The Red Door
by SilverDust09
Summary: Jon meets a strange girl with silver hair, finds out the truth about his mother and ends up going to Essos.
1. Lost Children

**The Nameless Girl**

She always loved watching the flames. For others they looked all the same, but not to her. There were a thousand different colors to be found in the flames. There was also something strangely comforting about them. It felt as if an old memory was trying to wedge its way into her mind these days. Now more than ever she dreamed of her past, but sometimes she was unable to say if it was a memory or a dream.

She recalled not much from her past. All she recalled was a house with red doors and a lemon tree in the garden. She also had a brother who told her stories about dragons and knights, but even here true name was lost to her. Her Mistress calls her Naerys, but she knew by now that this is not her real name.

It was the name she muttered when her first Maester found her half-frozen on the streets of Braavos. Even Braavos was nothing more than a blurry memory to her and always filled her with an aching pain that she was unable to describe. She knew that her brother died, but who and why this deed was committed she didn't know. Her memory of that night was nothing more than a dark chasm. Not that she tried to remember. Whatever happened to that night, she didn't want to recall these painful memories.

And her current life wasn't all that bad. She was lucky that her first Master sold her to Mistress Meema, a rich woman who owned one of the most prestigious brothels of Volantis. The Mistress was once a courtesan herself and sold to the Triarch of Volantis. Not that she cared much about the past of her mistress. Having a past is painful and those who lose themselves to such memories go mad..

 _You have no mother and father_ , Mistress Meema told the new girls only recently. _I am now your new mother, child._

For her that was never hard to accept. She didn't even know her father's and mother's name, only that both of them died a long time ago. As young girl she often pretended that Mistress Meema is her mother, though they showed little resemblance to each other. Mistress Meema was graced with inky black hair and eyes of jade. Naerys' hair was pale like the moonlight and her eyes of a dark purple colour like the silk dresses the highborn ladies of the city like to wear.

"Naerys," Mistress Meema's soft voice called her back to the present. Like every morning she was lounging on her silken canopy, a fan and her correspondence in her. Her age was showing these days, her once black hair streaked by more grey strands than she was able to count. "Come here. I have need of your help, child."

"At once, Mistress," she replied obediently and left her comfortable place before the hearth. Then she knelt down next to her and kissed the Mistress' hand.

The Mistress smiled warmly and brushed her hand through Naerys' silver hair.

"Now little bird...bring me ink and paper. I have need of your translation abilities."

"Of course," she answered and made her way to the carved box made of dark cherry wood. Carefully, she opened the box and found the ink and paper.

Unlike the other girls she was fluent in High Vayrian and thus her Mistress often used her for translation work. Her correspondence was often meant for the high nobility of Volantis. Naturally, she was not allowed to speak about it, but the idea of making use of her knowledge never occurred until one of the other girls remarked upon it

"Child!" her Mistress called out to her again and she hurried to join her side. Carefully, she spread the paper on the table and dipped the feather in the pot of ink. Then she shifted her attention back to her Mistress. "May I begin?"

Her Mistress smiled and started to dictate her letter to one of the many rich merchants residing in the city. Naerys knew many of them by name and also their dirty secrets. Many come here to find escape from their life, but some even used her Mistress' place to cover secret business deals. Even bribes and elections were often decided in these halls.

It was no long letter and soon paced the ink and paper back in the box, before returning to her Mistress's side.

"I thank you," her Mistress replied and poured herself a cup of sweetened wine. Naerys also received a cup but hers was sweetened with more honey than usual. Her Mistress knew her taste.

"How old are you now, child?" her Mistress asked.

"One and three…I flowered recently," she answered, which earned her a sad smile. Naerys didn't quite understand why her answer saddened her, but her Mistress always kept her true feelings hidden.

"Do you know what that means, child?" her Mistress asked.

"I will have to serve," she replied. She wanted nothing more than to make her Mistress proud, but deep down she feared the uncertain future…

"You are so young," her Mistress remarked and leaned back. "But it would stir the jealousy of the other girls if I show you more consideration than others. Some of them are already grumbling about your favourable position."

She was stunned by this piece of information, but then she spent most of her time caring for her Mistress.

"I don't want to upset the other girls," she gasped and earned herself a soft smile.

"No one can live without enemies, sweet child," Her Mistress remarked and brushed over her cheek. That is a lesson you need to learn if you want to be my successor."

"Your successor?"

"Of course," her Mistress confirmed. "Why else would I take you under my wing?"

"But...!" she wanted to protest, but her Mistress' fingers sealed her lips.

"I have no children nor will I ever have one. You are smart and you have the right mind for this kind of business. When I die I want you to have all my jewels."

Fearfully, she grasped her Mistress' arm and kissed it.

"You won't die!" she insisted and earned herself another chuckle.

"Nobody can say what tomorrow brings, sweet child."

...

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to moons and nothing changed. She continued to care for her Mistress and wondered when she will finally lay eyes on the man she will serve. Most of the girls served for a few moons, but some girls served for years.

Mistress Meema was such a person. When he was a young man the Old Tiger made her his official mistress and after seven years of loyal service he gifted her a box of jewels. These jewels she used to buy this place and turned it into one of the most prestigious brothels in Volantis.

Yet Mistress Meema's brothel was no place for cheap music, but beauty and music. All the girls here were educated, knew how to play an instrument and how to read. Some even knew history and others were fluent in more than one language.

"Your harp play needs more work," Nala, a girl hailing from Lys remarked. She was chosen to train them in music and dance. Nobody was able to bring forth softer tunes than her and nobody was more critical.

Not that the girl's criticism bothered her. She wanted to improve her play and a gifted teacher like Nala could only be to her advantage. At least that is what she tried to tell herself when she was scolded by the girl.

"I have been practicing diligently, but it is not getting better," she replied and lowered her head in apology.

Nala smiled and picked the harp from her hands.

"You look tired, sweet child," Nala added and brushed her hand over her cheek. "The Mistress should take on another servant to ease your burdens."

"The Mistress wants no one else," she countered stubbornly.

"Our Mistress is very sick," Nala replied in a serious voice. "She is trying to hide it, but her coughing is getting worse. Soon we will be sold."

"Sold?" she asked, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.

"Of course," Nala said and moved closer to whisper into her ear. "Unless she names a successor we will be sold."

But she named one, she wanted to tell the girl, but then she recalled that her Mistress asked it to keep it a secret.

"I see," she said and nodded her head in understanding.

The weeks passed and her Mistress' condition worsened steadily. She was barely able to leave her Mistress' side and was often unable to sleep through the night.

Tonight was such a night and as always she went to brew a hot tea for her Mistress. First she heated the water over the hearth and put the herbs into the steaming water. The healer prescribed it to her mistress to ease her pains.

Quickly, she returned to her Mistress' side and brought the cup to her mouth.

"I thank you," she said, her face pale as ash. Sweat was rolling down her cheeks as she continued to drink.

"Is there more...," her Mistress began, but then she heard it. It sounded like breaking glass and when she turned around she found a piece of stone lying on the ground. It broke the painted windows and the bits and pieces were littering the ground.

"What happened?" she asked and turned back to her Mistress. She gasped when she noticed her empty eyes staring off in the distance.

Fearfully, she touched her Mistress' brow. She was cold and she was no longer breathing.

 _She is dead_ , she knew and felt as if an arrow pierced her heart. She knew that her real mother perished in the birthing bed and now it felt as if her second mother was taken from her.

Yet she had no time to grieve for her mistress, when she heard loud noises coming from the solar. Gathering her courage she grabbed the dagger hidden under her Mistress' wine stash and made her way down to the solar.

When she entered the solar she felt as if stepping into a furnace. The solar once decorated with fine silk cushions and exotic flowers was burning.

Girls lay sprawled on the ground, dead and bloody. She spotted Nala among them, her head split open and part of her brain matter spread over the floor.

She froze and nearly dropped her dagger.

"Look!" a stranger exclaimed. He was a giant of a man and pointed at her. Wasting no further thought she rushed off, down the next corridor, leading the larder. There was a window leading out to the street. It was her only change of escape.

Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest as she rushed down another corridor, the voices of the stranger's distant echoes.

Breathing heavily she stumbled in the larder, where she found two of the kitchen maids and several other girls hidden under the tables.

One of them shrieked after they noticed her entrance.

"We need to get out of here!" she shouted at the girls hidden under the table. Those were the young ones, the maids, like her.

Yet it was too late. A moment later the door was opened and someone grabbed her roughly around the neck.

She found herself struggling against the man's weight, her dagger far from her grasp.

"Do you have her?" another man asked.

"I have her," he confirmed her captor and pulled on her hair. The pain made her whimper, but her gaze was fixed on the dagger on the floor.

"What have we here?" her captor's companion asked and grinned when he spotted the younger girls cowering under the tables.

"A stash of maidens ready to be sold. We will be rich men."

"Are you a maid?" the man pulling on her hair asked. She knew what he was really asking. Are you worth any gold?

"I am one and three...freshly flowered," she replied, her head pressed on the hard stone floor.

"Good," the other man said and pulled her back to her feet. "It would be a shame to kill you."

The same night they were brought to the harbour. Whoever these men were they intended to sell them for a good price.

What hurt the most was that she had to leave behind her books. Over the years she had assembled a large collection. Now they were lost to her. Like the other girls and her poor Mistress.

...

She didn't know how long their travel lasted. For weeks she only knew the rocking of the waves and the smell of salt filling her nostrils. Sometimes her captor allowed her to go on deck to catch fresh air, but most of the time she spent in her carbine.

 _We are going North_ , the man who bought her told her not long ago. He was a grim man and sported a shaggy beard. His accent sounded strange and she wondered if all people in the North speak like him.

Finally, moons later they arrived at a place called White Harbour. She found the town passable, but it was nothing compared to the splendours of Volantis.

Yet the worst was the cold.

Not that it was much of a surprise. Underneath her flimsy cloak she wore one of her summer dresses.

Their stay at White Harbour was short and only two days later they continued to travel along a muddy road called the Kingsroad, leading towards a castle named Winterfell. Finally, their captor thought of providing them with pelt, but one of the girls grew sick and died from a fever.

The rest of the travel consisted of blistered feet and the icy wind biting into her skin. She desperately tried to hide her face from the cold, but her efforts proved useless. The cold got everywhere and no pelt in the world was able to protect her. It made her long for a warm hearth, for her Mistress, for her house with the red door…

The thought was enough to conjure tears to her eyes, but she continued on towards Winterfell.

It proved to be a massive castle made of grey walls and towers alike. Yet they didn't enter the castle, but were brought to a town named Wintertown, where they were meant to serve in a shabby tavern.

"What do you have for me, Brease?" the owner asked eyed each of the girls.

"Maids...lots of maids," their captor replied and patted her head. "This one is a true beauty...you ought to sell her maidenhead to one of those high lords."

"Purple eyes and silver hair," the owner muttered and regarded her closely. "From Lys?"

"Don't know...she doesn't speak much."

"That is good. I will take her and the other girl...the one with the red hair. The Lord's son has a nameday coming up and the Greyjoy heir likes coming here. They will serve."

...

 **The Bastard of Winterfell**

Jon flushed as they entered the shabby tavern. He came here to celebrate his nameday. It was Robb's suggestion, but he was sure that Theon sparked the idea.

The heir to the Iron Islands always pondered ways to humiliate him.

"Is something wrong, brother?" Robb asked, a smile curling on his lips. "You are shivering like a young tree."

Jon gritted his teeth and tried to keep his composure. Theon's snickering made him boil with rage, but he couldn't run off. Robb was trying to be gracious and to refuse his gift would be an outright insult. He had no other choice but to play along.

"I am fine," he assured Robb. The solar was dark and the girls were lounging against the walls, their smiles following after him. "Truly, I am fine."

"Of course you are," Robb added and patted his shoulder. "Today is your nameday. Believe me...you will like it."

"As you say, brother," he muttered as the owner of this shabby place came to greet them. He was an ugly man and bared his yellow teeth.

 _He knows Robb._

"M'Lord," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, the girl is not for me," Robb replied and jerked his head at Jon."Today is my brother's nameday and I intend to be generous."

The man's face lightened instantly and he rubbed his hands together.

"Ah, of course," he said and led the way. „You are lucky too. We have two maids."

"Maids?" Theon asked and wrinkled his brows in surprise. "Sadly, I can't afford maids."

Jon wanted to kick the boy, but he didn't want to embarrass Robb.

"Please…show them to us," Robb stuttered and the owner followed suit.

Two girls appeared, one graced with red hair and the other…silver-blond. It was an uncommon hair colour. Most people in the North sported dark hair and her eye colour was even stranger. Purple like dark silk.

"The one with the silver hair is called Naerys...like the Dragon Queen. The red head is called Maara...she is a bit wild."

Jon swallowed hard, all eyes resting on him. He didn't know what to say. He was speechless.

Then the silver-haired girl lifted her head and met his gaze.

"Well chosen," the owner said and patted his shoulder, though Jon hadn't even said a single word.

Not that he cared. He wouldn't have been able to choose on his own.

"Very well," Robb said and handed the owner the promised gold coins.

It only helped to deepen his grudge against Theon Greyjoy.

"What are you waiting for, Snow?" Theon taunted and grinned."Or did you forget where to put it?"

"I know where to put it," he replied through gritted teeth and followed after the girl. Quietly, the girl led him up a staircase towards the guestrooms. Jon's heart nearly jumping of his jest after the girl had closed the door behind them.

What disturbed him even more was that the girl's silence.

Was she afraid or just unable to speak?

Instead she started to pull of her clothing.

"Please stop!" Jon gasped anxiously.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she stopped.

"Why?" she asked, in a strange accent Jon was unable to place. "Isn't that the reason you came here?"

"I am here, because my brother thinks he is doing me a favour. He thinks I am in need a woman before I go to the Wall."

"What has this Wall to do with having a woman?" she asked and sat down on the bed, her hands smoothing over the surface. Her lack of knowledge only confirmed what he already knew. She was a stranger to these lands, but her silver hair and purple eyes could have told him that.

"Going to the Wall means joining the Night's Watch. The men of the Night's Watch are not allowed to marry or to father children. Thus having a woman will be out of the question."

"There is only one thing I don't understand," she said after a while of silence had passed between them."You said that they are not allowed to marry or to father children. Why does that mean you can't have a woman?"

Jon was stunned.

"Well, it doesn't matter...because I can't do that...I could father a bastard."

"Bastard," she repeated the word as if it was foreign to lips. "What does that mean?"

He sighted heavily.

"It means my father and mother were not married. I am also a bastard...the life of a bastard is full of hardships."

"Why?"

"Because people shun you. Bastards are cursed by the Seven."

She laughed and rose to her feet to pour herself a cup of wine. Then she took a hesitant sip and shifted her attention back on him.

"Where I come from very few people believe in the Seven. The courtesans often went to the Temple of Light to pray or to receive blessings. The God of Light makes no difference between rich and poor, old our young, slave or free man. This concept of bastards being cursed makes no sense to me."

Jon didn't know what to say that. He had the urge to laugh and wished Lady Stark would hear the girl's words.

"Temple of Light?" he asked. "Where can I find this Temple of Light?"

"In Volantis," she replied and sat back down on the bed. "It is a beautiful city. You should visit if you have the time."

"I told you...I will go to the Night's Watch. The Wall is the only place for a bastard like me. The rumours say the King is coming to make my father Hand of the King. His wife wants me to leave."

"Then leave…I don't understand why this Wall is the only place you can go," she replied and met his gaze. Her words angered him, but he tried to keep his composure.

"Didn't you listen?" he grumbled. „I am a stranger in my father's home...," he continued but stopped himself after he noticed her sad expression.

A moment of heavy silence followed, before she spoke again.

"You are a free man...you can go wherever you want and leave your mark on the world. I don't understand why you want to go to the Wall when the whole world stands open to you. Go to Essos...nobody there will care if you are a bastard."

"I can't just go," he countered and sat down on the bed next to her. "I have a duty."

"Duty to whom?"

"My father...to remove his shame. By serving in the Night's Watch I can achieve that."

"If your father is ashamed for fathering you then doesn't deserve to be called your father."

"How can you say that?" he asked and fisted the bedding. "Do you even know your father?"

"No," she replied a sad expression taking hold of her beautiful face. „I only know that he is dead...like my mother and brother."

He felt like slapped.

"I...," he stuttered and lowered his head apologetically. "I am truly sorry."

"You are a strange boy," she said and pursed her lips. "I forgot to ask...What is your name?"

"Jon Snow," he replied and felt her hand on his cheek. Her touch was warm and he couldn't help but to return the gesture.

She smiled at that.

"Well, then Jon Snow...I can assure you that you won't have to worry about bastards. We all know how to make moon tea."

He frowned and brushed her hand away.

"Why would you want to do it with me?"

"I rather do it with you than some other fool. You are at least pretty to look at."

Her words made his cheeks burn.

"You mean it?"

"Of course," she replied and brushed her hand through his dark curls. "I mean it."

"I am not lying," she assured him and leaned down to kiss him. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, touching his lips to hers. The kiss warmed him from head to toe and left him delirious for more.

Then she let go of him and pulled off her cloak, followed by her dress. She was precious to behold and made his breeches uncomfortable tight.

 _Gods_ , he thought and was torn between running away and kissing her again.

Again she bridged the distance and kissed him, her hands pulling on his hair.

Her mouth felt so soft and he was soon losing himself to her touch. Carefully, she helped him discard the rest of his clothes. Only when she started to work the bindings of his breeches did he stop her.

"I may be a maid, but I know what I am doing," she assured him and touched him.

A moan escaped him and he felt both shame and lust washing over him. Then he balled his fists in the bedding and closed his eyes.

It felt like a massive wave, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Don't fret," she told him and helped him pull down the breeches. „It won't hurt...boys are luckier than girls in that regard."

A trembling laugh escaped him.

"So I heard," he replied and touched her shoulder. She smiled as settled herself on him, though he saw a hint of discomfort washing over her, before a gasp left her mouth.

"Are you well?" he asked her then and brushed his hand over cheek. She smiled at that. It was a smile that tugged at his heart.

"Aye," she replied balanced herself against his chest. Jon bit back a groan and then another. It was too tight and too warm.

It took not much more than that, before the world started to blur before his eyes. When he came back from his haze he felt only shame.

The way she was calmly washing herself bothered him even more.

"Do you want to wash yourself?" she asked, but he needed to leave, to forget about his shame, to hit Theon and to thank Robb, to do something.

"I am fine," he replied and put on his clothes, before slipping out of the room.

Yet even at night, when he was rolling from one side to the other, was he unable to forget her sad smile.

...

 **The Namless Girl**

She was occupied with the calculations when a strange customer entered the solar.

It was a dwarf, a very well-dressed dwarf.

Yet his ghastly look didn't bother the other girls.

"What brings you here, M'Lord?" Ross, one of the prettier girls asked and smoothed her hands through her red locks.

"Did you come in company of the King?" Kyra added. She was one of the youngest girls, only one and tree.

"Business," the dwarf lord answered. "I am here to find company for the King...there will be a feast in Winterfell."

"We heard of it," Ross replied and grinned down at the dwarf, her breast nearly completely visible through her pale dress. Even from here she was able to see her frozen nipples. "How can we be of service to you, M'Lord?"

The dwarf chuckled.

"I am searching for pretty girls who know how to entertain a King," he explained and looked around. "This shouldn't be hard to accomplish. I never thought a dreary place like the North could be filled with so much beauty.

The girls giggled. Only Ross, the oldest among them, continued to sport her feigned smile.

She knew what it would mean to serve the King.

She the King riding through Wintertown and wasn't very surprised. She heard that he was once a mighty warrior, but now he was only a fat man, dressed in fancy clothing and carrying crown on his head.

"Then tell us…What does the King like?" Kyra asked and twirled her brown air between her two fingers.

The dwarf opened his mouth, but then their Master joined them, his eyes blinking as he noticed this richly-dressed customer.

"M'Lord! M'Lord! Welcome!" their Master greeted and rubbed his hands together. „I am sure we have a girl that will suit your tastes."

"Not today," the dwarf lord answered. "I am here to find ladies for the King."

"The King...!" their Master stuttered and nearly collapsed. „Truly...such an honour," he continued and rang with his composure, his gaze hurriedly wandering over the girls, before coming to rest on her.

"Then you should take a look at our new girl," he boasted proudly as if she was some sort of well-bred horse.

"Barely touched and very beautiful. Look at this exotic hair and those purple eyes."

The dwarf inclined his head and to look at her while she tried to hide herself behind the bottle placed on the table.

He eyed her from head to toe, before giving his answer.

"I fear she wouldn't be to the King's taste," the dwarf explained in an apologetic look. "Her silver hair and her purple eyes would only remind him of a man he once killed for stealing away his betrothed."

Realization showed on her Master's face.

"Of course...we have plenty of other girls. I am sure one of them will suit the King's taste."

The dwarf nodded his head in understanding.

"That would be of great help to me."

Her Master smiled and rushed up the stairs to call for the other girls occupied with customers.

"I need to put on a proper dress," Ross told her, a smug smile curling on her crimson lips. "I think M'Lord is thirsting for a cup of wine."

"I apologize," the dwarf said and smiled at her. "But your lack of beauty wasn't the reason."

The dwarf's forwardness amused him.

"I am not sad," she whispered and filled a cup to the brim. "I saw the King. He is far too big for most girls here. I fear not all of them will make it out alive."

The dwarf lord laughed and sipped from his wine.

"You are a witty one, aren't you?"

"If you think so," she said and continued with her calculations. Since she gave her maidenhead to Robb Stark's brother her Master was hoping that either Robb Stark or the Greyjoy heir will return to demand her company.

Thus he had to find other obligations for her. At first this included cleaning the floors or serving ale to the customers, but when her Master realized that she was good with numbers he allowed her to do the weekly calculations.

"No, I mean it," the dwarf insisted and moved closer get a look at her work. "I never met an honest whore."

She gritted her teeth and bit back a sharp comment.

"Where I come from we call ourselves courtesans."

The dwarf lord cocked an eyebrow and placed his cup back on the table.

"And where is this wondrous place you are coming from?"

"Volantis," she answered hesitatingly, because Ross told her to keep him occupied. "My mistress died and I was sold."

"Volantis," the dwarf repeated and jerked his head at the accounts littering the table. "I am surprised they teach courtesans how to calculate."

"And to read," she corrected him. „We are thought a great many things, M'Lord."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, though I am curious...please tell me more."

She sighed, but answered nonetheless.

"Poetry, music...I was even allowed to study High Vayrian. I miss that the most. No other language can compare."

"I can read a little bit of High Valyrian," the dwarf remarked and emptied his cup. "It is a very beautiful language, though nobody at court appreciates it…the King holds not much love for the Targaryen dynasty."

The name Targaryen sparked something in her blurry memory.

"Naerys...that is my name," she added. "A Targaryen Queen carried this name."

"Aye," the dwarf confirmed. „I saw a painting of her. She liked to dress like a Septa."

"Septa?" she asked, like so often.

"A woman dedicated to the Faith of the Seven. Queen Naerys was known to be very pious," the dwarf explained quickly after he noticed her obvious confusion.

"Interesting...," she began, but her Master's re-appearance interrupted their conversation.

"Girl!" her Master grumbled at her. "Do your work upstairs. You are bothering us."

She frowned, but lowered her head in understanding."Of course."

Arriving at the top of the wooden stairs she stopped and continued listening. She always did that, because it helped her to gauge the situation.

"You should ignore her, M'Lord!" she heard Kyra say. „She thinks she is something special because our Master keeps her fresh for the Stark heir, though I doubt he will come back after his bastard brother plucked her."

Kyra's comment earned her a scolding

„Shut your bloody mouth, girl!"

...

 **The Bastard of Winterfell**

The sound of the feasting guests made his head squirm. He was so happy to see his Uncle again, but when he asked him about joining the Night's Watch he made fun of him. Like the girl with the silver hair.

His Uncle's words wounded his pride.

Jon was ten and five, almost a man grown, but his Uncle dared to call him a child.

And yet his Uncle's words made him doubt his past convictions.

What if his Uncle was right? What if the girl was right?

All he knew was that he had no future in Winterfell if his father agrees to serve as the King's Hand.

 _Go to Essos. Nobody there would care if you are a bastard_ , the girl told him and deep down he wanted to believe her. Sometimes he imagined becoming a sellsword, but then he wasn't even able to speak the language spoken across the Narrow Sea. Coin he had too, but his fear held him back.

 _I have to make a decision_ , he knew and brushed those troublesome thoughts away. _Tomorrow I will decide._

Slowly, he continued to stumble along the wall, fresh snowflakes littering the path before him.

 _I had a cup too much_ , he knew and felt the sudden urge to vomit. Ghost seemed to sense his distress and joined his side, licking his hand while he leaned against the stone wall.

"I am well," he assured the wolf.

"You look pale," a stranger's voice disturbed their peace. Jon turned around was surprised to find the Queen's brother, Tyrion Lannister, observing him from the distance. "And very drunk."

"I had only three cups," Jon defended himself, but the dwarf grinned, his ugly face alight with amusement.

"You are the bastard, aren't you?" the dwarf continued his questioning. Jon winced, but tried to keep his composure. This one was a high lord and a Lannister.

 _A Lannister always pays his debt_ , he recalled their motto from one of Maester Luwin's dusty books.

"Eddard Stark is my father," he replied, lacking a better answer.

"And Lady Stark is not your mother…which makes you the bastard," the dwarf quipped amusedly.

"Aye, Lady Stark is not my mother," he answered through gritted teeth. Ghost seemed to sense his discomfort and growled at the dwarf.

"Ah, one of the famous direwolves!" the dwarf exclaimed happily and rubbed his hands together.

"May I touch him?"

"You may," Jon confirmed politely. "But be careful. The teeth of a wolf are sharp."

"As are the teeth of a lion," the dwarf countered quickly. "Though I am only a very small lion."

"You are small…nobody can deny that, my Lord," Jon agreed sarcastically.

The dwarf smiled wryly.

"And you are the bastard…nobody can deny that, my boy," the dwarf added gingerly. "I heard about your generous brother. He bought you the most beautiful flower to pluck."

Jon was momentarily confused, but then he understood. He froze in embarrassment, his cheeks burning like a hot brazier against the cold winter air.

"Who…," he stuttered and looked around to make sure that nobody was around to listen to their conversation. "Who told you?"

"The owner of the brothel was bragging about it to me and wanted to offer the girl to the King. Luckily, the King holds not much love for silver-haired beauties."

Jon felt a hint of relief washing over him, though he tried to hide it from the dwarf.

"A witty girl," the dwarf added knowingly. "I have never met a whore who could read and write High Valyrian poetry. What a waste."

"My Lord," Jon interrupted stiffly. "I think it is best I leave you now. I am tired and a bucket awaits me to empty my stomach."

The dwarf grinned.

"I will see you soon, my boy."

 _I hope not_ , he muttered and led Ghost away.

As expected, he spent half the night emptying his stomach. Afterwards he rinsed his mouth and tried to sleep, but the uncertainty of his future kept him awake.

Jon was woken by the cry of a woman. Slowly, he rubbed his eyes and pulled on his tunic. Then he made his way to the basin and splashed fresh water into his face to banish away his weariness.

For a brief moment he believed that the woman's cry was merely his imagination, but only a moment later Robb stormed into his chamber, his face as pale as candlewax.

"Bran fell!" he shouted, his voice laced with fear."He fell from the Broken Tower!"

"What?" he asked Robb and followed him down the whirling steps. "How?"

"I don't know," Robb answered and opened the door, Greywind and Ghost close at their heels. "I don't know."

The Broken Tower was not far, just across the courtyard and pass the stables, yet they were not able to see anything. A large group of onlookers was assembling and Robb had to push them aside to get through.

"Out of the way!" Robb shouted as he continued to push the people aside. "Out of the fucking way!"

Finally, the crowd parted and they were allowed to pass.

"Bran!" he heard Lady Stark's whimpering cries. „Wake up! Wake up!"

"Mother!" Robb shouted, his voice growing softer than a feather as he approached his mother, grouching over Bran's body. "I sent a rider to inform father, but we need to move Bran away from here…we can't have him lying her in the dirt. Jon is going to help me."

Jon swallowed hard when he met Lady Stark's piercing blue eyes.

Yet she simply brushed her tears away and ignored him.

"Carefully," she told Robb as he knelt down to lift Bran's body from the ground. Jon did same and moments later they were able to place their brother in a bed, Maester Luwin ready to attend to him.

Then they were sent away and he door was close behind them.

.The waiting proved the worst. The whole day Maester Luwin spent inside Bran's chamber. Only Lord Stark, Lady Stark and Robb were allowed to see him.

Jon longed to see him, but he doubted Lady Stark would appreciate it. Luckily, Robb was kind enough to keep him and Arya informed.

"What did Maester Luwin say?" she asked Robb, her voice brimming with impatience. "When will he wake up? When can we speak to him?"

"I doubt you will be here," Robb replied, his face stern. „The King wants to depart soon."

Arya grimaced.

"I won't go!" she insisted and left, Nymeria trailing after her. "Father can't force me!"

Robb exhaled deeply and shifted his attention back to Jon.

"Father told me he wants to speak to you," Robb added quietly.

Jon shrugged his shoulders and rose to his feet, Ghost following after him. The way Robb said it meant it was important.

"I will speak to him," he assured Robb and whistled at Ghost. "Come along, boy."

The castle was eerily quiet. It felt as if his brother's accident had cast a heavy shadow over their family.

Carefully, he climbed up the stairs and tried to forget his fear. He wondered what Lord Stark could want from him. Jon was hardly ever called to his study. That was usually Theon or Arya.

He exhaled deeply before he open the next door and made his way along a dusty corridor, lined with old pictures and fine tapestries woven out of colourful seam. One carpet showed black wolves running across a white field. There were many more, but an angry shout diverted his attention elsewhere.

"The boy is barely ten and five. I won't take a green recruit to the Wall. A few more years and the boy will be old enough to decide…," Uncle Benjen's muffled voice rattled across the corridor.

Jon froze. This was most definitely his Uncle Benjen's voice and he knew who they were talking about.

"But my wife!" he heard his father's protest."I tried my best to convince his…," his father added, his voice laced with frustration, but his Uncle interrupted him.

"No!" Uncle Benjen replied firmly while Jon moved closer to the study. He didn't dare press his ear against the door, but he heard enough to understand what they were talking about. "Our sister's ghost would hunt me from her grave…speak to your wife and tell her the truth. Fourteen years are long enough to hide behind a lie."

His Uncle's words confused him. Why would Lord Stark's sister care about him? She died before his birth…

"I cannot tell her…I made her believe that he boy is my son and you know how much she dislikes him…," his father continued, but his Uncle showed little patience and interrupted him again.

"Of course she dislikes him!" his Uncle shouted. Who wants to have a bastard growing up among his trueborn children? What did you think? That she would come to love the boy like her own? I never had a wife and I will never have one, but I think both your wife and the boy deserve to know the truth."

Silence followed and he heard the sound footsteps moving against the stone floor.

 _Truth_ , he wondered. _What truth? And what does his Aunt have to do with it?_

"They can never know…Catelyn…she wouldn't understand…I fear what she could do," His father stuttered and fell silent.

"Ned," Uncle Benjen said, his voice heavy and sad. "Lady Stark would endanger her whole family if she told he King about Jon's true parentage. She wouldn't risk her families' safety."

"You don't understand!" his father countered angrily."Lyanna asked me to protect him. For all those years I kept him safe from the King, but Robert's hatred for Prince Rhaegar remains unchanged. Sending him to the Wall would keep him safe…not even the King would be able to touch him there."

"Aye," Uncle Benjen agreed, his voice laced with disapproval. "What about the boy's wishes? How can we decide his future when he doesn't even know his past? Isn't that cruel?"

"Maybe," his father replied, but Jon didn't want to hear the rest. He heard enough and felt only confusion.

 _Lyanna asked me to protect him. Robert's hatred for Prince Rhaegar remains unchanged. Sending him to the Wall will keep him safe._

Lords Stark's words kept whirling through his mind as he rushed out of the castle. His heart was pounding furiously and sweat was rolling down his brow.

 _It can't be true! It had to be a lie! A dirty lie…_

Anger and sadness washed over him as he opened the door to the crypt. Along the way he had fetched and lit a torch, before slipping down stone steps.

"Come boy!" he told his wolf and together they continued their march through the darkness. Arriving at the bottom of the stairs he turned left and found a familiar statue staring back at him through the darkness.

Deeper and deeper he descended into the crypts until he found the tomb he was searching for.

It was the grave of Lady Lyanna Stark, flanked by the tombs of her Lord Father Rickard Stark and her brother Brandon Stark.

Her statue showed a young girl, her youth captured in stone. There was something very sad about her expression and now Jon knew why.

 _Lyanna asked me to protect him_ , he recalled Lord Stark's words. _Robert's hatred for Prince Rhaegar remains unchanged. Sending him to the Wall will keep him safe._

The words cut deeper than steel.

"So you were hiding down here?" he asked the statue, anger and sadness whirling up inside him. "All this time you were hiding down her…Mother," he continued and was barely able to force the words over his lips.

Then the tears came, rolling down his cheeks like raindrops.

"Why did you die?" he asked the statue, but received no answer. He couldn't help but to be angry with her, when it wasn't even her fault.

Hatred unlike anything he had ever known pulsed through him. It was Prince Rhaegar who did this to her.

He raped her and the result was…Jon Snow. And yet his mother loved him and asked Lord Stark to protect him when she should have cursed his existence.

 _He never told me_ , he thought and stumbled towards the grave. He touched it carefully and rested his head on the cool surface. _Lord Stark never told me how much you loved me._

This was the greatest betrayal.

He didn't know how long he remained like this, but Ghost's wet tongue on his skin called him back to the present.

"I know," he muttered to the wolf. "She is dead and yet…," he continued and rose to his feet.

Then he gathered all his courage and lifted the surface of the tomb. The stone statue was nothing, but a false image. Only once he wanted to see her with his own eyes.

Sweat and fresh tears were rolling down his cheeks as he managed to shove the stone lid to the side.

Exhaling deeply he lightened the tomb with his torch, but found no bones. He found only ash and a dusty cloak. Quietly, he crawled into the tomb and touched the garment. It nearly fell apart as he tried to unfurl it, but what was hidden beneath it proved far more interesting.

It was a wooden box, carved out of dark wood and embellished with beautiful gilded carvings of dragons.

Carefully, he opened the box and gasped. Inside he found three colourful stones. With utmost care he picked one from the box and was surprised how warm they felt. Yet the stack of dusty letters placed beneath the stone surprised him even more.

He put the egg aside and opened one of the letters. The paper was old and written in a foreign language. Jon knew it was High Valyrian, because he saw such letters in Maester Luwin's books.

The writing looked elegant, but these stone eggs were even more precious to behold.

 _Not stone eggs_ , he corrected himself inwardly and smoothed his hand over the surface. _Dragon eggs._

…

 **The Nameless Girl**

She didn't expect him to return, but then he was a rather strange boy. The way he spoke of having to remove his father's shame confused her greatly, but then she didn't really understand how it felt to have a father.

"Do you even have enough coin to pay for her, boy?" her Maester asked Jon Snow, his dark eyes shining with subdued anger.

"I have," the boy confirmed stiffly and put a bag of coins on the table. Her Maester's eyes started to glitter like the stars and a grin revealed his unruly teeth.

"Aye, Aye, that will do!" her Maester said happily and rubbed his hands together. Then he turned around to search for her.

She sighed and didn't even attempt to hide away. It could be worse. The strange boy was pleasant enough.

"Come here girl!" she heard her Master's shout. She straightened herself and feigned a smile. "How may I serve?"

"Get the boy upstairs and do whatever he likes," her Master told her. She smiled and dipped her head again.

"Come along, my M'Lord," she said and jerked her head towards the stairs. "I think you know the way."

"I know," the boy confirmed stiffly and followed after her. He didn't look very enthusiastic, but maybe be that was just part of his personality.

Once she had closed the door behind her she filled two cups. Then she started to remove her dress, but the boy stopped her.

"Please…that is not why I came here," the tried to explain and ruffled his unruly dark hair out of his face.

"There is something else I want…," he added and pulled something out of the vest of his cloak. She stopped and watched as he put a stack of papers on the table. The paper looked very old, yet it didn't explain why he brought the letters here.

"I don't understand," she said and met his grey eyes. "Can't you read?"

"Of course I can read," the boy replied and appeared insulted by her words. "But not that…it is High Valyrian…I heard you can read it. Can you translate it for me?"

She was speechless and a moment later she broke out in laughter.

"Gods…," she said and tried to stifle her laughter. "You paid all this money for me to get your letters translated?"

He frowned.

"These are very important and personal letters...," he explained, his voice laced with anger. "Can you read High Valyrian or not?"

"Aye," she confirmed and was beginning to realize how important this was for him. "I can read High Valyrian."

Carefully, she picked the first letter from the stack and unfolded it.

The writing was marvellous and spoke of good penmanship, but the use of the language was even better. It were only a few sentences, but the author was without question fluent in High Valyrian.

 _"Greetings to you Grand-Uncle Aemon….I hope that you are in good health and that I will soon find time to visit you at the Wall. I enjoy our correspondence, but to have the possibility to speak face to face with you would be an even greater pleasure. Life is difficult in the capital and my father's madness taking a toll on us. Yet among this darkness we were blessed with good news. Elia is expecting again, though the Maester never fails to remind me of the dangers. Please return this letter to me as always and write me a lengthy reply. As always, I hope you will be watching the skies as diligently as myself. Sincerely yours, Prince RhaegarTargaryen."_

"Prince Rhaegar Targaryen," she repeated the name to herself. There was something very familiar about this name, but she forgot where she heard it.

Jon Snow seemed equally disturbed.

"Are you well?" she dared to ask, but received no immediate answer.

Instead he exhaled deeply and pulled his cloak from his shoulder.

"Aye," he said and moved over to the table, before drowning the cup in one go. "Please continue."

"Very well," she replied and picked up the next letter.

 _"Greetings to you Grand-Uncle…I hope this letter receives you in good health. The tourney of Harrenhall proved as wasteful as I expected and my father's presence there only helped to stir the cries for a rebellion. Tywin offered his support, but I can't bring myself to trust the old Lion. Elia is as well as can be expected given the difficult birth of my son Aegon. He is a precious boy and healthy as one can be, but something is not right. On the day he was conceived I saw a bleeding star, but his birth went about like any other. Maybe I was wrong to think him the promised prince…Could I have been wrong? And I made an interesting acquaintance…Lady Lyanna Stark…the daughter of the Lord of Winterfell. But why am I telling you this? You probably heard that I crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty. The girl from the North proved brave and beautiful…I only wanted to honour her for her valiant deeds (of which I intend to tell you about in my next letter), but my wife misunderstood my intentions. Why I am writing this to you is beyond me, but it feels like you are the only friendly spirit I can converse with in these dark times. As always, stay in good health, Grand-Uncle. Sincerely yours, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."_

"This Prince Rhaegar sounds unhappy," she remarked and shifted her attention to Jon Snow. He was still deadly silent, his gaze lost and sad.

"Aye," he replied, but didn't speak further.

"Lady Lyanna Stark," she repeated. "I think I have heard people talk about her. Is she a relative of yours?"

"Aye, she was my aunt," he replied through gritted teeth. "But that was another lie. In truth she was my mother."

She gasped and finally understood why he was so distraught. Lady Lyanna was supposedly raped, but she forgot the name of the man who did this vile deed.

"I am sorry," she apologized and picked up the next later. This letter was dated a year later.

 _„Greetings to you Grand-Uncle…I hope my letter reaches you in good health. These lines were written in hurry, for the realm is breaking apart before my very eyes. You might have heard about my father's vile deed…he murdered Rickard and Brandon Stark in cold blood, though I have yet to discover why Brandon Stark thought I abducted my beloved Lyanna, though she assured me that she left a massage for him in the hands of Lady Lysa Tully, supposedly a trustworthy friend of hers. Not that it matters now. My beloved Lyanna is heavy with child and I need to keep her safe or the promised prince might never be born. Until then take care of yourself and keep watching the skies. Sincerely yours, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."_

"My beloved Lyanna….my beloved Lyanna," Jon Snow muttered to himself and grabbed the table. "How dare he call her that!"

Then she finally understood. The man who abducted her was this Prince Rhaegar. All her knowledge about the Targaryen line ended with King Jaehaerys the Second death and thus she lacked in knowledge about the succeeding Targaryen Kings.

And yet this Prince Rhaegar called her "my beloved Lyanna". Why would he call her that if he raped her?

"It seems he cared about your mother," she said at last and offered her own conclusions on the matter. "I don't think he harmed your mother."

"I know that now," he replied angrily and rose to his feet, before binding the letters back together. "But he left his wife and children. He should have known better…my Grandfather and Uncle died for their folly."

"I see," she remarked, taken back by his aggressive tone. "I didn't mean to insult you…," she wanted to continue, but then she noticed the tremor in his shoulder and heard his soft whimpers.

He was crying and she felt utterly helpless.

"He was my father…I wish he was just a rapist…that would have make it so much easier to hate him…," he stuttered, tears rolling down his cheeks.

She didn't know what to say, but she felt the urge to comfort him. He came here freely, baring his secrets to her, a stranger. _He trusts me to keep his secrets_ , she understood and rose to her feet.

Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder. Yet he didn't stop. Instead he leaned over the table and continued to weep.

She felt completely helpless and put her arm around his shoulder, steading him as the both of them sank to the ground.

Lacking words of comfort she pulled him in a hesitant embrace. She expected him to pull away, but he buried his head in her neck and continued to weep.

She didn't know how long they sat there, but then he stopped and brushed his tears away.

"I apologize," he said at last, his voice strained and laced with embarrassment. "I shouldn't have acted like this and I shouldn't have burdened you with this knowledge."

"I understand that…but I won't tell anyone…I promise," she added helplessly.

He looked stunned.

"I thank you…," he said almost gently. Slowly, he moved towards the door, but stopped at the last moment. Then he turned around to look at her.

He looked torn, his face a mixture of sadness and determination.

"Naerys…that is your name, isn't it?"

She nodded and liked the way her name sounded on his lips, though it wasn't even her real name.

"Well, then…Naerys…Would you like to go home?"

"Home," she repeated. She never had a real home. All she had was a dream; the red door and the lemon tree. "Braavos…my brother and I used to live there. Of course, I would like to go home."

"Braavos…," the boy repeated, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. "Then that is where we will go."

…

 **The Bastard Prince**

It was nearly dusk when Jon slipped out of the castle. Jon said goodbyes, but it was still hard for him to leave his home.

 _I can't stay_ , he knew. _My presence here puts them in mortal danger._

And yet it pained him to leave his siblings; Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon and even Sansa.

No, this is the best solution for everyone involved.

It was night when he finally arrived at Wintertown. There not far from the market place he waited for his travelling companion.

The wait felt like an eternity as he watched the coming and going of the smallfolk. Most of them he knew, but he doubted they paid him much attention.

"There you are," a quiet voice snapped him out of his reverie and a gentle touch on his shoulder made him turn around. He hardly recognized her with her covered hair.

"We need to hurry...," she told him anxiously. "My Master is a drunk, but the other girls will notice my absence."

"Of course," he replied and led her back to his horse.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?"

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"No, but I would love to try," she added and tightened her grip on his arm. Her touch warmed his cheeks, but he quickly brushed those thoughts away.

 _There is no time for this._

"Well, then let me show you," he answered and climbed in the saddle while her curious purple eyes continued to observe him from the ground.

"Now it's your turn," he prodded. "Just put the feet in the stirrup and climb up. Don't be afraid. I will catch you if you fall."

"I am not afraid," she assured him determinedly and put her feet in the stirrup. With quick movement on her side she was seated where she belonged.

They didn't speak as they rode through the woods and avoided the main roads. The weather was kind, an occasional snow storm slowing down their travel.

They rode through the night and at times Jon felt like slipping out of his saddle. Then he welcomed the icy wind, keeping him from falling asleep.

After a day of riding they decided to rest. He led the horse deeper into the woods and tied it to a nearby tree. Wrapped up in their cloaks they tried to sleep, but the sun falling through the treetops made it almost impossible.

Jon was also afraid of being discovered

He stole a girl, even though he promised to accompany his Uncle Benjen to the Night's Watch.

He did it to buy himself time, but his lie weighed heavily on his mind.

Lord Stark lied to you for fourteen years, he thought, fresh anger stirring inside him. What do you care about a flimsy promise?

"Jon," the soft voice of his travelling companion snapped him out of his thoughts. "Where are we going?"

"White Harbour," he returned and met her gaze. "There will find a ship."

Realization showed on her face.

"I recall this place," she answered and pulled down her cloak. "And really you think we will find a ship that leaves for Braavos?"

"I hope so," he said and tried to sound confident. "Any ship travelling to Essos would do…we have to leave as soon as possible."

Fear showed on her face.

"As long as we don't go to Volantis or one of the Slaver's Cities we should be fine."

Her words confused him.

"I thought Volantis is a beautiful city."

"It is," she confirmed and pulled down her shawl to reveal some sort of tattoo resembling tear drops. "Every slave has such a tattoo. Everyone in Volantis would know that I am escaped slave. This means death for me. Slavery is forbidden in Braavos. It is one of the few safe places for someone like me."

Jon swallowed hard, disgust filing him to the brim.

The girls in the brothel were practically slaves of their Master living right under his Lord Father's nose.

Once he exiled a high lord for the crime of slavery, but the poor girls were of little interest.

"Jon," his travelling companion's soft voice called him back to the present. "Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"Aye," he confirmed. "I understand."

The smell of salt and sea filled his nostrils as they made their way through White Harbour.

It was the first city he visited and he was impressed by what he saw. The houses were made out of white stones glimmering in the pale morning light like the polished surface of a sword.

All looked so orderly and even the streets were made of smooth stones like the rest of the buildings.

Along the harbour he spotted several docks filled with countless ships in all forms and sizes. The people working on the ships were even stranger to behold. Some were dark as ink, some pale-haired like the girl in his arms and some had even pink haired.

Weary from the long travel they settled in a nearby tavern. A few coins and they even got a proper meal consisting of grilled fish and sea grass. The ale was bitter and the fish was good, though his travelling companion touched any of it.

"Don't fret," he assured her and started to rummage through his belongings. He stole clothing from the servants, but he feared they might be too big for her small form.

"Here," he said and dropped the clothing in her lap. "Put this on…it will disguise you well enough to ward off suspicious looks."

"I thank you," she replied and started to remove her cloak. Jon didn't waste another moment and turned around, facing the wall.

She chuckled, obviously amused by his behaviour.

"I apologize," she said as she continued to dress. "But you have seen me before and yet you act like this…"

"I only did it to please my brother," he explained plainly. "He spent a lot of coin for my sake. In truth I feel ashamed of my behaviour."

"Oh," he heard her answer, soft and sad. This was not what intended to achieve. "I didn't think it was such a bother for you."

"It was no bother," he corrected himself. "I enjoyed it, but I thought myself above such things…and I swore that I would never father a bastard. I used you for my personal pleasure and that was wrong."

"You don't need to feel ashamed," she assured him after a moment of silence had passed between them. "And you helped me to get away."

Another moment of silence passed between them as he listened to the rustling of her clothing. Finally, his travelling companion freed him from this strange situation.

She looked strange in the wide clothing meant for a young man, but it was necessary.

"Good," he replied and couldn't help but to smile. "Now rest. I will get food for Ghost. He hasn't eaten since yesterday and he grows upset if he has to go hungry."

As if his wolf understood him he lifted his head and yawned.

"I will do that," she replied, before settling down on the bed made of wool and hay. Ghost didn't seem to mind her presence and rolled to the others side, before dozing off.

In truth he didn't just get food for Ghost, but spent half the evening asking around for a ship leaving to Braavos. Finally, after a dozen of conversations he found a galley named _the Lady of the Sea_.

The Captain was massive man and dressed in rich robes, but he offered him a fair price. Jon feared his wolf would scare the Captain away, but it seems the promise of transporting an exotic animal intrigued the man.

He tried to be as silent as possible, but his travelling companion already awake, Ghost's head resting in her lap.

The sight surprised him, but he kept it to himself.

"It seems Ghost and you are getting acquainted," he remarked.

"You were gone long," she replied and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "I thought you got lost."

"I found a ship," he explained and rinsed his face in the bowl of water placed on a nearby table. "The ship is called the Lady of the Sea. The Captain wants to leave today…we should hurry."

She smiled in relief and quickly fastened her cloak.

"What about your horse?"

"I sold it…coin is more important," he explained.

.Men in all sizes and colours were loading goods on the ship while the Captain was puffing his pipe.

"Ah, there you are!" the Captain exclaimed in a thick-Bravoosi accent, his small grey eyes darting to his wolf. "And the promised beast. You weren't lying when you said that his fur is as white as snow.

"I thank you," he replied and feigned a smile. Then he shifted his attention back to his travelling companion. "This is my friend…he will travel with us. Sadly, he can't speak properly."

"A waste…such a pretty boy," the Captain remarked. "The Gods are cruel."

Jon didn't comment and pulled her along towards the ship. It was nearly midday when they left White Harbour behind them.

Jon felt both relief and sadness, but it was better this way.

 _One day I will return_ , he promised to himself. _One day._

"Jon," his travelling companion addressed him. Jon wanted to chide her for it, but the door to the cabin was closed. "I know it is a silly question…But why did you ask me to come with you?"

 _Because I couldn't forget your sad smile_ , he wanted to say, but found another reason.

"I know nothing of the Free Cities…I can't even speak the language," he explained and ruffled his hand through his hair. "Once we arrive in Braavos you can leave…you are free to go wherever you want."

She shook her head.

"I was only four when I lived there. My brother and I lived in a small house with a red door and an elderly man took care of us. One day men came and killed my brother and the old man. I don't know how I made it out, but they found me roaming in the streets. Naerys…that is not even my real name. My brother used to call me Dany. I tried to explain it to my Mistress, but she found the name too plain."

"Dany," he repeated the name. He was a simple name, but suited her.

"Then I will call you Dany," he declared and pulled his cloak around his shoulders. "You are free…you don't have to carry the name these slavers gave you."

She smiled.

"Jon is a rather plain name for the son of a Prince, but it suits you."

He laughed.

"I suppose you are right."

…


	2. Lost Home

**Ned**

The boy was gone and Ned didn't know what to do. At first he thought that Jon left **,** because he asked him to join the Night's Watch, but now he knew the truth. The boy lied to him and stole away a girl from the nearby brothel in Wintertown.

The boy's actions are now the talk of the castle. Day in and day out he had to hear Cat's complains, yet Ned continued to send out one rider after another to search for the boy. He needed to find him, to ease the guilt raging inside his chest.

 _Lya_ , _I failed miserably._

He should have known better, but now it is too late. The boy is far away and all he has left is a broken home.

The King was wants a quick departure, this wife is angry with him for worrying about the boy named his bastard, Robb is demanding answers. Sansa is dreaming about her betrothed, Arya is throwing one temper tantrum after another, Rickon seems utterly confused by Jon's disappearances and Benjen is pressuring to tell Cat the truth.

The boy probably heard our fight, Benjen suggested not long ago.

Ned disagreed with Benjen, it is the only explanation for Jon's behaviour. Not long after the boy's disappearance, Ned sent out men to inquire about his behaviour in the last day before his departure. The answers he received confirmed Benjen's suspicions.

 _I saw the boy carrying something from the crypts_ , one of the guards told Ned no long ago. _I saw him in company of a girl_ , a woman from Wintertown told Ser Roderik.

It didn't make it any easier for him to accept the current situation. The boy he swore to protect left because he discovered Ned's lie.

"Father?" Robb's voice called him back to the present. "You called us here."

"Ned," Benjen added and closed the door behind him and Cat. His wife was utterly silent, her blue eyes narrowed in confusion. "Your son asked you a question."

Benjen's voice was brimming with subdued anger. It told him that his brother is blaming him for Jon's disappearance.

"I heard you," he replied and turned around to face his lies. "I called you here to speak about Jon…," he trailed off.

Relief showed on Robb's face.

"Did you find out about his whereabouts?" his son asked, but he was forced to crush his hopes.

"No," he replied. "But I know why he let…it has to do with his mother."

"Why can't you tell us where he went if you know that his disappearance has to do with his mother? Robb asked, his brows wrinkled in confusion. "Shouldn't you know about your whereabouts?"

Ned swallowed hard and felt Cat's gaze resting on him.

She asked him numerous times about the boy's parentage, but every time he refused to answer her questions.

It is time to reveal the truth, no matter how much it pained him to do it.

"Jon's mother died in childbirth," he said, unable to reveal the full truth at once. "I am sure he is aware of this fact…he probably overheard an argument between myself and your Uncle Benjen."

"Argument?" Cat asked. "What kind of argument?"

Benjen didn't hesitate to give her the blunt truth.

"Our argument concerned the boy's future," he explained and met Cat's gaze. "I refused to take the boy to the Night's Watch."

Cat's features were awash with anger, but she kept her composure.

"I see," she said. "But that doesn't justify the boy's actions. He shamed us all…," she continued, but Ned couldn't help but to correct her.

"Cat…I doubt the boy left because of the girl," he explained. Every word burned on his tongue. "He left because he found out the truth…he found out that I am not his father."

Cat's eyes widened in shock, her face pale like the parchment Maester Luwin uses to write his letters.

"What did you say?" she asked. "The boy is not your son…"

"No," he confirmed. "The boy was never my son. He was my sister's child…I promised her to protect him."

Deadly silence followed and Ned averted his gaze. He was unable to endure her reaction.

"Prince Rhaegar!" Robb exclaimed and bridged the distance. Ned felt him pulling on his shoulder and turned around to face his son. Cat remained silent. "He is Prince Rhaegar's son…gods…he raped her…," Robb stuttered, but Ned cut him off.

"No," He corrected his son."Rhaegar didn't rape her. Lyanna was always stubborn…she went freely and doomed herself with her mindless act. She was so afraid and I promised her to protect her boy. Robert would have smothered Jon in his crib if he knew the truth. Making him my bastard was the only way to protect him. I didn't relish…," he tried to explain his reasons, but Cat was shaking her head in disbelief.

Her face was flushed, tears shining in her eyes.

"Didn't relish it?" she asked, her voice brimming with bitterness. "You took me for a fool…you took us all for fools. Did you ever consider the danger you put us in?"

"Aye," he agreed, his voice growing softer. "That is why I didn't tell you. I didn't do it out of cruelty…," he tried to explain, but Cat showed him no mercy.

"You lied to me, because you didn't trust me!" she threw back, her voice raw with emotions. "Did think I would hand over a helpless babe?"

"I never thought…," he stuttered. Surprisingly, it was Benjen who came to his rescue.

"We cannot live in the past," he said and touched Robb's shoulder. "Jon made his choice, but I felt you deserve to know the truth."

"You were right to correct me for insulting the bastard," Cat said at last, tears running down her cheeks. "He has more honour than you…he saw how much danger he posed to our family and left."

"He is no bastard," Ned corrected quietly. "Prince Rhaegar…he married Lyanna."

"Gods!" Robb muttered. "That means…," he continued, but Cat wanted to hear nothing of it.

"It matters not. Nobody can ever know the truth," she insisted, her blue eyes burning into Ned's.

"Now it is even more essential that you go to King's Landing," she explained. "There can be no doubt about our loyalties. Do you understand?"

Ned understood, though he had wanted to refuse the King numerous times.

He swallowed hard and lowered his head in acceptance.

"I understand."

…

 **Dany**

The Temple of Light in Volantis was massive, but the Titan of Braavos proved even more impressive. Looming over them was a massive giant of stone, who greeted the approaching ships.

Suddenly, a loud roar echoed in her ears, loud enough to wake even a distant ship.

"Ah it is good to see my old friend!" the Captain remarked, his pipe in hand. Dany liked talking to him and heard his entire life story. Thirty years he had been ferrying lumber and pelt between White Harbour and Braavos. No wife or child was waiting for him, only the sea. At least that was what he claimed, though Dany didn't quite believe him.

"Is this giant always this loud?" Jon asked and covered his ears to the roaring sound. "How often does it happen?"

The Captian laughed cheerfully.

"Three times a day, and whenever a ship approaches the harbour. Better get used to it, my boy."

"Aye," Jon replied and frowned at the Giant. He was no longer garbed in his pelted cloak, but wore a simple white tunic, dark breeches and his worn-out riding boots.

The proceedings that followed took all morning, the city hardly visible behind the thick clouds of fog covering it like a mantle of white dust.

First they had to pass _Chequy Port_ where two tedious custom officers inspected their holds. The inspection went smoothly until one of the custom officers spotted Ghost and decided to spark a heated conversation. Left and right, up and down their hands moved as the Captain and the custom officer engaged in heated discussions. Finally, the Captain was able to convince the man and they were allowed to pass.

Yet it was only the beginning. Next they docked at place called _Ragman's Harbor_. It was a port meant for foreign ships and much different than White Harbour. The smell of dirt, sweat and poverty lingered in her nose as they made their way along the cobbled street leading along the port. Everywhere she looked she found porters, mummers, brewers, beggars and whores. The smell, the noise and the amount of people cast a stunned look on Jon's face. He looked like a little boy left alone in a foreign place.

Dany felt only relief. Here she is safe, at least for now.

Jon frowned, his face pale like the mist hovering over the city.

She moved closer, Ghost trailing behind them and garnering surprised looks from the passing Braavosi.

One girl, dressed in yellow silk moved closer, but backed away fearfully when she noticed the wolf's ruby eyes.

"Ghost!" Jon commanded and whistled."To me!"

Quickly, the wolf moved to his side and stroked his furred ear.

"We should search for a tavern," she added quietly, discouraged by his ill-mood. "Tomorrow, we can explore the city."

"Aye," he agreed, his dark eyes sweeping over the port. Along the street they found several inns and taverns, some of them carrying descriptive names like Happy Port, Satin Palace, the House of the Seven Lamps and many more. "But we have to be careful. We can't afford to waste too much coin."

"Don't fret," assured him gently. "I learned how to haggle in my Mistress' service."

Thus the evening passed as they moved from tavern to tavern to compare the prices.

Now and then she took the time to take in her surroundings. Maybe she knew this particular corner? Maybe her brother took her here to watch the ships? Or maybe it was all a dream, something she imagined to paint a past for herself.

It didn't matter. Braavos was the safest place for someone like her.

It was late evening when they finally decided to return to Happy Port. It was a brothel, but the price was good and the meal was for free, though Jon seemed to dislike it when the girls started to swarm around like bees.

For Dany this place felt like home, though she would have never admitted it openly.

They ate in silence, their meal consisting of fresh oysters, grilled fish and strange vegetables. One of the girls called it sea spinach, a dish only known in Braavos.

Dany thanked her for her kindness and slipped her an extra coin, though it was her own money, stolen from her Master's hidden stash.

"Where did you get the coin from?" Jon asked her later as they settled down for sleep. Jon slept across the room, his bed made of hay and wool. His cloak was thrown around his shoulders and his his few belongings stacked against the wall. Among it was a box made of dark wood and covered in beautiful gilded carvings of dragons. Not that she has ever seen a real dragon, but her brother liked to tell her stories about them.

"Dany!" Jon called out to her. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Aye," she confirmed and nodded her head. "The coin…it belonged to my Master…I stole it."

The smile hushing over his lips surprised her.

"Well, bad for him, but good for us," he declared, before lying down on his bed. Dany wanted to ask him about the box, but his weary expression stopped her.

I will ask him later, she told herself and pulled the blanket over her shoulder. Ghost was not far, lying sprawled between Dany and Jon, his red rubies eyes glinting in the dimly-lit room like two polished rubies.

Silence spread between them as Dany tried to sleep, the noises of the city reaching through the thin walls.

She tossed and turned, Jon's back turned to her as if he was determined to avoid her. At least that was her impression.

Even his sword was there, lying not far from his grasp as if he expected a nightly assault. On the ship they shared a cabin and she couldn't help but to notice his discomfort whenever she slept close to him.

At times she expected him to put the sword between them like the knights do in the tales to keep the maids pure.

The thought was ridiculous, but made her smile. Jon was no knight and she was no maid.

Yet she was unable to keep her mouth shut.

"Jon!" she called out his name. She was sure that he was still awake, by the way his hand was grazing over the pommel of his sword. "Do you regret coming here?"

"What?" he asked and sat up. Then he turned around and rubbed his eyes. "What did you say?"

"You look sad," she replied and met his gaze.

"My sadness has nothing to do with you," he assured her and brushed his locks out of his face. "Do you recall the sword fighters we saw tonight?"

His words confused her, but then she recalled the fabulously dressed men sparring against each other on the open street.

"Aye, I recall them."

"Their swords…I gifted my little sister a similar sword…small and nimble, meant for a girl's hand. She would love it here…that is why I am sad."

She understood what he meant, even though she had only flimsy memories of her brother.

"I am sure you will see her again," she assured him.

Finally, a smile showed on his lips.

"I hope so," he replied.

…

 **Jon**

They searched every part of the city. From island to island they marched, searching for a house matching Dany's description: three-storied house with a red door and a lemon tree.

At first it didn't bother him all too much. He loved exploring the city. Every island promised new adventures and foreign sights. There was the Island of Gods, located at the center of the city and housing hundreds of different shrines and temples dedicated to every known god.

Dany knew all their names and spent half the day educating him about them. Jon knew only the Seven and the Old Gods Lord Stark's ancestors worshipped. The Seven were always foreign to him, maybe because he associated them with Lady Stark. The Old Gods he followed because they were his father's gods.

Yet Lord Stark is not his father any longer, though he still thought of him as such. The betrayal stung deep, but he was still a man who cast away his honour to protect him when he could have easily handed him to the King.

It made him wonder if Prince Rhaegar worshipped the Seven?

It was a silly thought, but he couldn't help but to think like that when he saw all these temples dedicated to so many different gods. The sheer number was mindboggling to him, but for Dany it seemed normal.

She gave him all their names. There was the Temple of Light, the Tempel of the Moonsingers, the House of Black and White, the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea and many more, some even unknown to his bookwise travelling companion.

"All these temples…utter madness!" he muttered to himself as they made their way along another cobbled alley. The buildings here were all decorated with smooth tiled stones. Marble, Jon thought, though he knew little about such things. Yet it as not hard to see that this was a place meant for the more fortunate members of society.

As they passed he spotted women garbed in colourful clothing, their hair braided up on top of their heads and decorated with all kind of frilly head-coverings. Some wore colourful feathers and others nets made of silver and pearls. The men were even worse. Some of them wore high-buckled boots decorated with silver, gold and jewels.

Their mistrustful looks didn't help to ease his fear, though Ghost was following after him like loyal shadow. Especially, when they tried to glimpse over the stone walls surrounding the houses, did they earn hostile reactions. One time, the guards nearly caught them, though they were able to slip away in a nearby alley.

Now they were back, walking along the same street. It was getting late, the first signs of dusk visibly on the distant.

Yet Dany had no intention to stop her search.

They hadn't eaten since morning, though they were forced to take a break during around midday when it started to rain. They took refuge in a nearby tavern, drank tea and counted their leftover coin. It was not much, but that was no surprise. Jon had to bribe the custom officer to allow Ghost into the city, though that remained a secret between him and the Captain. He didn't want to bother his travelling companion more than necessary when she was so happy to come here.

"This house is familiar!" Dany exclaimed and stopped abruptly. She pointed at a three-storied house, made of black stone and a yellow roof. The painted windows told him that this place was the home of a rich merchant; definitely, not a place for orphaned children.

Yet that didn't seem to bother Dany.

"Jon," she said and winked him to her side. "Lift me up and I might be able to get a look at the door."

Jon sighed heavily and wanted to refuse, but they had been marching all morning and he understood that desperation was driving her.

"Very well," he replied. Her nimble stature made it easy for her to climb on his back. Soon she was sitting on his shoulders like Arya used to do when she was little.

"Good," she said and pulled herself to her full height, her bare feet resting on his shoulders. "Are you alright?"

He couldn't help but to laugh. This was utter madness and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, but then it had been a long time that he had so much fun.

"I am fine," he assured her and tightened his grip on his feet as she pulled herself up on the wall. Finally, she reached the top while Jon kept looked out for possible onlookers.

The alley completely deserted, but he was still anxious to leave.

"The door is red…but I am not sure…I see no lemon tree," she said, her voice laced with bitter disappointment. They found several houses with doors painted in different hues of red, but none fitted Dany's memory.

Three days of search, but no success. Jon was beginning to think doubt their quest, but he couldn't bring himself to destroy her hopes.

"Let's move on," he said encouragingly and made his way back to the wall. She didn't answer, but he saw her slender form casting a shadow on the cobbled street below.

He spread his arms and a moment later she was back on the floor, her silver hair dishevelled and sweaty.

"Shall we search elsewhere?" he asked her as they made their way back to Ragman's Port. She didn't speak, her gaze fixed on the ground.

"Dany…," he said and touched her shoulder.

"No," she replied, her voice brimming with sadness. "Haven't you noticed? None of the houses we visited had a proper garden, let alone a lemon tree. Braavos is devoid of greenery. Maybe I made it all up. Maybe I didn't even have a brother…," she trailed off and stopped abruptly.

She sounded hopeless and lost.

Jon felt the urge to comfort her, though deep down he partly agreed with her assessment of the situation.

"Nonsenses," he said and tightened his grip on her shoulder. "I am sure you had a brother, but the memories are a fickle thing. I remember very little from my early years. Maybe you are confusing something. It happens."

"Maybe," she replied leaned into his embrace. "Maybe you are right."

Slowly, she turned around and met his gaze, her purple eyes shining with tears.

She looked pale, her silver wet from the rain that was again pouring from the sky.

"I hope I am right," he replied and graced her with a smile. "We should get back to Happy Port. I fear it will pour all night and I doubt Ghost wants to get another bath."

"Probably," she agreed, a trembling laugh leaving her mouth. Then she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and pointed at ahead. "Happy Port it is."

The rest of the walk was bridged in silence, the movement of their footfalls on the ground and the whispering of the people the only noise.

Happy Port was brimming with customers, though Jon was by now used to the girls in their flimsy clothing and the drunken men boasting about their prowess.

Their meal was simple, potato soup and hard bread, but for Jon's empty stomach it was heaven. One of the girls was even kind to bring Ghost leftovers.

Their room was all the way up the stairs, but the song and noises of the brothel were still reaching through the thin walls. That it was rather shabby didn't bother him either. What counted to him was that the people here were trustworthy. The first day he carried around his box, but now he kept it hidden in their locked room. Only once one of the girls dared to ask about it, but Jon's sharp rebuke scared her away. Dany scolded him for his behaviour, but then she didn't know about the content of the box.

"We have to find a different place," she said after they had finished their meal. "And we need work."

"Aye," he agreed and continued to smooth his hand over Ghost's head resting in his lap. "I asked the Captain about it before we left the ship. The dock workers always in need a helping hand. I doubt they will pay me much, but I am barely able to understand the language."

"I will teach you everything you need to know," she declared determinedly. "And I can work too. I will ask around."

He nodded, perplexed by her resolution. Three days she had been searched the entire city like a madwoman and now she acted as if her search was no longer important.

"What about your search?"

"It matters not," she replied, defensively. "I cannot spend chasing the past."

"Maybe, "Jon agreed and rose to his feet, before sitting down next to her. "But maybe we are just asking the wrong questions."

"Wrong questions?" she asked and wrinkled her brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe we should stop searching for painted doors, but inquire about your brother. You have silver hair and purple eyes…Did your brother look like you?"

She frowned and pondered his question for a moment, before giving her answer.

"I think so…my memory is rather blurry," she explained.

"Good," he said. "And do you remember what happened that night?"

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes.

Then she opened them again, her purple eyes wide and bright.

"They killed the elderly man…my brother…he threw me out of the window. There was garden and a door out to the street nobody knew about other than my brother. I was bleeding from the broken glass and the insides of the house were on fire. They burned him…they burned my brother and the elderly knight. Then I ran…the rest are nothing but blurry memories."

 _Gods_ , he thought. _Who would burn innocent children?_ Whoever Dany was, her caretaker or her brother had hateful enemies.

"Well, then we will ask around…I am sure someone will be able to remember such an incident," he declared determinedly.

"Do you think that possible?" she asked and leaned closer, her warm breath tickling his cheek."Or are you just trying to comfort me?"

"Both," he admitted and brushed his hand over her cheek. He did it subconsciously and pulled his hand away when he noticed his mistake.

"Lie or not," she replied and smiled. "I am thankful for your help."

He nodded and exhaled deeply. He was about to rise back to his feet, but her curious glance wandering to his box made him stop.

"Do you want to see?" he asked her, trying to find a more pleasant topic to occupy their minds with. "It belonged to my father."

"Of course I want to see," she replied, her eyes alight with curiosity. "Is it something precious?"

"Very precious," he confirmed and unlocked the box. Then he picked out one of the eggs. It had a black surface, red vines whirling around it from all directions.

"Is it a jewel?"

"No," he replied and placed her hand on the egg. "It is an egg…. a dragon egg."

She gasped in surprise like young children do when they hear an unbelievable story.

"It is warm," she whispered."Do you think it is alive? Do you think they can hatch like chicken eggs?"

"Maybe," he replied and graced her with an amused smile. "Maybe they will hatch if we keep them warm. As you said…it works with chickens."

It was a silly notion, but Jon was merely joking.

She chuckled and put the egg back in the box.

"Maybe."

…

 **Dany**

They had been roaming Drunkard's Town all morning. She and Mella, the tenant's wife that rented them a small room facing out to the street, had been selling fresh oyster to the passing crowd.

Among their customers she observed a great variety of people; sailors, whores, singers and even merchants. Now and then one of the famous seawives bought from them and sparked up a conversation with Mella.

She was a tall and graceful woman, her blond hair falling to her waist in thick curls. The only mark on her beauty was the burned off skin on her neck, but she never hid it like Dany did with her slave marks.

"Dusk is near," Mella observed and pointed at the sky. Streaks of red and orange littered the horizon, the buildings in the distance nothing more shadows. "I think it is time to pack our things. Mara will be upset with me if I stay away beyond sunset."

Mara was her eldest daughter. Like her mother she spent half her days selling fish near Ragman's Port., but by now she was back home, taking care of her younger sisters Hadi and Shala. Hadi was ten and four and an acolyte in the Temple of Light. Shala, the youngest was only ten and spent most of her days at home, keeping the house hold in check.

Mella's husband Seoman was often away. He was a fisher and spent most of his days on his ship.

"Of course," Dany replied and picked up her basket. They sold most of the oysters, but her work didn't earn her much coin. Jon didn't earn much more than her, but together were able to afford the rent.

The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon when they returned. Yet the moon was full and lightened the streets better than the flimsy street lights.

"Where have you been?" Mara asked. She was garbed in a dirty green dress, her hair dishevelled and dirty. "It took you longer than usual."

"Aye," Mella confirmed and pulled off her cloak. "We had a lot of customers."

"I can see that," the girl replied and opened the door for them. Shala was hovering in the anteroom, her red hair kept in two long pigtails. "But father was fretting about you."

Instantly, Mella's face lightened up. "I didn't expect such a quick return."

"He was forced to return," Mara explained. "A storm damaged his ship."

Mella sighed and touched her red amulet wrought in the form of a flame. Like her second-oldest daughter she was a devout follower of the God of Light and two times a week they went to the temple to receive blessings. "It is good that our stocks are full, but we have to thankful that your father returned to us in good health."

Then she shifted her attention back to Dany, who had observed their exchange in silence.

"You should come and eat with us one of these days," she said and graced her with a warm smile.

Dany felt a gust of affection washing over her.

"I would be honoured," she replied and dipped her head, before making her way down the stairs torwards her own dwelling place.

Carefully, she opened the door and stepped inside. Much to her surprise Ghost was already there sprawled on the floor next to the fireplace.

The popping fire surprised her even more. Quietly, she made her way to the next room and found Jon sleeping on his bed of hay and wool.

Dany slept near the fireplace, but she offered him numerous times to sleep next to her. It was much warmer, but Jon proved more stubborn than expected.

Sighing deeply, she closed the door behind her and stirred the dying fire back to life. Then she placed pot on the flames and heated the water.

For others cold water might suffice, but Dany preferred it scalding. She even accepted the additional work of transporting the water here every morning.

It was her only luxury. Happily, she discarded her dress and washed herself before the open fire, Ghost her only witness to the act.

She enjoyed every minute of it and it helped to loosen her stiff muscles. In her Mistress' place they had their own bath, but here the people contented themselves with cold water from the rain basin.

"Gods!" Jon's gasp called her back to the present. "Can't you put up a warning!"

Dany turned around and flashed him a grin. They have been living together for nearly tree moons and yet he acted like he had never seen a naked girl. Dany knew why he was like that, but nobody here cared that he is a bastard, the son of a whore or a Prince. Even Mella and her daughters considered them wed, though they had never shared a bed since their first encounter.

Mara even offered her moon roots. Mella had her daughter for it, because the substance was apparently much stronger than tansy and could lead to unwanted side effects.

 _If you want proper tea, go to the healers._

Sadly, going to the healers also means to waste their scarce coin.

"Well, usually you are not even home during this time of the day," she replied and pulled her dress back over her head.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much better," he replied, but the smile showing on his lips meant that he shared her amusement.

"When did you return?"

"A few moments ago," she replied and brushed her hand through her hair. It was getting too long and bothersome. "Why are you home before nightfall?"

"Didn't you see?" he asked and frowned. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

Dany was confused.

"A surprise?" she asked and looked around. "What do you mean?"

"Your nameday…the door…Didn't you see?"

"The door?"

Jon sighed and patted her shoulder.

"Come along…I will show you," he replied and opened the door. The street outside was deserted, the sky starry and littered with numerous stars. Then Jon closed the door behind them and lifted his latern.

The light revealed the truth. Someone painted the door in rich crimson.

Dany didn't know what to say.

"Did I get the colour right?" he asked her, his dark eyes resting on the door.

She tried to speak, but no sound left her mouth.

"I wasn't sure…," he stuttered, but Dany sealed his mouth with a kiss. His lips were soft and inviting.

Surprisingly, he didn't push her away and returned her kiss. He even parted her lips, his tongue brushing against hers.

It sent a surge of desire through her body, but then he stopped and pulled away. It felt as if someone had poured bucket of cold water over her.

"I assume this means you like my gift?" he asked her and pulled her back inside. It was only now that she noticed the peddler boys watching them from the roof.

 _Damn brats_ , she thought and recalled and unpleasant incident three weeks ago. Mara and her sister had been bathing and the boys watched them from the roof.

Mella cursed the living shit out of the boys, but it seems her curses were not much use.

"Of course I like it," she confirmed and eyed his swollen lips. "It is just…nobody has ever gifted me anything."

"Oh," he said, his face alight with surprise. She made use of the moment and kissed him again, smoothing her hands through his soft hair.

Annoyingly, he pulled away again, his dark eyes resting on her in a mixture of lust and shame.

"You don't have to repay me like that…," he told her and she couldn't help but to slap him for his stupid answer.

"Sometimes you are really a fool!" she snapped while he rubbed his shoulder. "That was not the reason I kissed you."

He looked guilty.

"I didn't mean…," he stuttered and flushed. "I didn't mean to insult you. I liked it. Truly, I did."

His answer helped to calm her anger.

"Good," she said and pulled the dress over her shoulders. "Because I am sick and tired of sleeping alone."

"Dan…," he wanted to protest, but forgot about it when she kissed him and slipped her fingers under his tunic. Finally, he forgot about his inhibitions and helped her pull off his tunic. His boots and breeches followed suit.

He swallowed hard, before kissing her again. Both of them were naked as their name days his skin hot like a brazier.

He gasped into her neck, then moaned, as she reached between their bodies to touch him.

Soon his fingers were digging into her back, his head buried on her shoulder, panting for air.

"Stop it!" he gasped at last and stilled her hand. And then his mouth was back on hers, his hand brushing her breast and hip. She pulled her hand away and threaded it through his hair, before pulling him back to her sleeping place, next to the hearth.

She lay down and pulled him down, staring down at her with half-lidded eyes. Yet she also read fear.

"Is something wrong?" she asked and brushed her hand through his dishevelled hair.

He didn't speak, the silence stretched endlessly. Then he shook his head.

"Nothing is wrong," he replied and braced himself beside her while the other one pulled on her hip. His eyes, dark like the starry sky above, fluttered close as he slid inside her.

He exhaled shakily, his breathing ragged.

It didn't hurt like the last time, but he asked her anyway.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," she whispered and touched her mouth to his. "Not at all."

He moved slowly, his movements controlled, his laboured breathing muffled by her shoulder. She wanted him to kiss her again, but his face was buried in her neck, his fingers grasping the bedding.

Soon even that thought was forgotten. Her own body thrummed with heat, her breathing becoming ragged as he sped up his movements, his hands grabbing for her hip in a desperate motion.

With one quick motion she he slid impossible deep and left her gasping for her air, stars exploding before her eyes.

He thrusted a few more times into her, his hips jerking in quick movements. Then suddenly, he collapsed and buried his head in her neck, his moans echoing in her ears.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his pupils blown and his face flushed.

He gave her an apologetic look.

"I wanted to pull out, but I was not quick enough," he told her. It took her a moment, before she understood what he meant.

"You are a fool," she told him chidingly and brushed her hand over his cheek.

"Maybe," he said and sounded slightly hurt, before sliding out of her and rolling on his side.

"I am sorry…," she apologized quickly and patted his shoulder."It is just…I don't understand why you feel ashamed. I am sure even your oh so honourable Uncle took great pleasure in producing his children."

"You know why."

"I am just trying to open your eyes to the truth. Most people here don't care if you are a bastard. I don't even have a second name. Snow, Sand, Flowers, Waters…your surname means nothing to me."

"You are right," he said, a hesitant smile crossing over his lips. "But it is hard to forget about these past habits."

…

 **Robb**

Lord Wylis Manderly proved as enormous as his Lord father, a jolly smile lightening up his round face as he tried to kneel.

"A bow should suffice, my Lord," he assured the man.

"Of course," the man replied and bowed his head. "It is a pleasure to be here, Lord Stark."

"And it is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Manderly," Robb replied and leaned back, grasping the handle of the high seat. It was still strange for him to occupy his Lord Father's seat, but Greywind's presence gave him the confidence he needed. "Sadly, neither my Lady mother nor Master Luwin are here to join us."

It was half a lie. Maester Luwin was tending to Bran because Robb instructed him to do so and his mother left for the capital to report her findings his Lord Father. A few weeks ago she made her way up to the Broken Tower and found a golden lock. Robb didn't know what to make of it, but his Lady mother was convinced that Bran's fall was more than a simple accident.

Robb had pleaded with her to remain here, but his Lady mother insisted and thus he was left fretting about her.

"A pity," the Lord said and Robb nodded his head in agreement. "But I bring good news…my inquiries about your brother proved fruitful."

"Truly?" Robb asked and felt relief washing over him. He had been fretting about his brother since the day he disappeared, but now there was a glimpse of hope appearing before him. "Please tell me about your findings."

"A man…a Braavosi Captain saw a boy fitting your brother's description, but what convinced me was the description of his wolf. He had fur as white as snow and ruby eyes."

"Ghost," Robb said and tightened his grip on the handle of his chair."That was without any doubt Ghost."

"There is more, my Lord," Lord Wylis added. "Your brother wasn't alone. He had a travelling companion…a boy with silver hair."

"Silver hair?" Robb asked and received the confirmation he had been seeking for. It was true. His brother stole away the girl form the brothel.

His Lord Father was convinced that it means nothing, but Robb couldn't believe that all this was a mere coincidence.

Not that he could tell anyone about it. Only he and his mother knew about Jon's true birth and his Lord Father swore them to secrecy.

"My Lord!" Lord Wylis called out to him. "The Captain told me that your brother left his ship in Braavos."

"Braavos," he repeated. Then he lifted his head and met Lord Manderly's gaze. "Did my brother tell him about his future plans?"

"Not that I know of," Lord Manderly replied and destroyed all his hopes.

Robb wanted to do nothing more than to ready a ship and bring his brother home, but he was also sure that neither his Lady Mother nor his Lord Father would approve of such actions.

He exhaled deeply and met Lord Manderly's gaze.

"My Lord," he said and graced him with a smile. "I am thankful for your help. I hope you will stay a few more days to enjoy our hospitality."

The man smiled happily and lowered his head.

"I am honoured, Lord Stark."

Moments later he was making his way up the stairs to Bran's chambers, Greywind trailing after him.

Maester Luwin's looked surprised.

"My Lord Stark," Maester Luwin greeted. "What brings you here?"

"I want speak with Bran…alone," he replied.

Bran's face lightened up and Maester Luwin nodded his head in understanding.

"Of course," the elderly man said and closed the door behind him.

"Robb!" Bran exclaimed impatiently. "What is going on?"

"I bring good news," he replied and settled himself on the bed next to Bran. "I have news about Jon…It seems he travelled to Braavos."

Brans eyes widened in surprise.

"Braavos…," he repeated. "Will you send men to bring him back?"

"Not now," he replied sadly and ruffled his hand through his brother's hair. "I can't act without father's approval."

...

 **Jon**

He found the place beside him empty. Carefully, he pulled the bedding up to his shoulders and narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight.

"It is almost midday," Dany chided him from her place near the window. Barely a moon ago he was able to find her an old writing table. Now she was earning additional coin by penning letters for their illiterate neighbours. It was not much, but better than nothing.

"Today is a holiday," he reminded her. "I don't have to work."

"That is why I chided you," she replied and chuckled, her gaze fixed on the paper in front of her. You missed the parade and the costumes. It was a fabulous sight."

"I see," he said and she put away the piece of paper. Then she rose to her feet and pulled off her dress, before slipping back under the bedding and snuggling close to him.

He sighed in frustration.

"Stop it!" he told her and rolled away.

She chuckled and turned around to grace him with a mischievous smile.

"It seems you brought your sword to bed," she joked.

They had done this more than a dozen times, but her merciless teasing still made his cheeks burn. After the first time he tried to refuse her, in fears of getting her with child, but his will proved weaker than expected. He tried to console himself with the fact that he hadn't spilled inside her since their first night together, but the last few times were close. It was hard to keep a clear head at the hight of pleasure.

"Still," he told her and pulled her hand away. "I need to get up."

Quickly, he tried to move out of the bed, but she proved swifter and grasped his shoulder.

"I got you!" she declared like a child playing hide and seek.

"I can see that," he replied and leaned down to kiss her, but she didn't move. Suddenly, she paled and wheeled around, emptying her stomach on the floor.

"Gods!" he gasped and was quickly at her side, brushing her hair out of her face. "Are you sick?"

"It seems so," she replied defensively. Quickly, she climbed out of the bed to retrieve a rag and a bucket to water to clean the mess. Jon used the time to dress himself and joined her side to help her.

By then she was already finished and slipped her dress back over her head.

"You should go and see a healer if you are feeling sick," he told her, but she shook her head.

"That would cost too much," she insisted. "I will drink tea and keep away from the fish. That should do it."

Jon didn't like that sound of that. The lack of coin was becoming more and more of a problem, though Dany tried to ignore it.

Jon never shied away from hard work, but he wanted something better. He liked the tenant's family, but he can't imagine living her forever.

Maybe it was his noble upbringing, but the money he received for his work was not enough for him.

He had been pondering this for a while, but he didn't dare to bring it up until now.

"Dany," he said and cleared his throat. "I have been thinking…"

Her face softened at his unsure tone.

"What have you been thinking about?" she asked and knelt down to brush her hand over Ghost's head.

He was growing bigger every day. _Another reason._

"A few days ago I met a man…he was recruiting for the Second Sons…a swellsword company,"

"I heard about them," she replied and grew defensive. "What about them?"

He was sure that she understood what he wanted to say. She was far too smart.

"I am a good swordsman…it would only be for six moons…the coin would allow us to live comfortably for one or two years. You could open shop…start a business or something else."

"Six moons," she repeated. "That is half a year."

"I know," he admitted. "But you are not alone. Mella will take care of you and Ghost will stay with you. What more protection do you need?"

"I am not afraid," she replied defensively. "I know how to take care of myself, but I worry about you. All you know is the practice yard, but a real battle is full of blood and dead."

"I know," he replied, slightly hurt by her words. What she said was true, but it still hurt his pride.

"I am not afraid," he insisted and she smiled sadly.

"I don't deny your bravery, but brave people tend to do stupid things," she added and pulled a shawl over her shoulder. Even here in the Free Cities, the first signs of autumn were showing.

For Jon the autumn weather felt almost pleasant, but Dany was used the heat of Volantis.

"I won't do anything stupid," he replied. "I will come back. I promise."

Another moment of silence followed that drove Jon to madness.

"Don't you believe me?"

She wrinkled her brows.

"Of course I believe you," she replied, her purple eyes glinting with a strange emotion he was unable to place. "But that doesn't mean I like it. Go if you must. I won't stop you."

"That is not enough for me," he replied. "I won't go without your blessing."

She nodded her head and rose to her feet to place a kiss on his cheek.

"You have my blessing."

Relief washed over him and spurred him on.

Carefully, he brushed his hand over her arm.

"Before I go," he said and forced the words over his lips. "We could go to the temple…there are more enough…"

She cocked an eyebrow, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. It told him that she understood what he was trying to say.

"Not now," she told him and squeezed his hand. "When you return…then we will go to the temple."

He couldn't help but to smile.

"And you will be fine?"

"Of course," she replied and jerked her head at Ghost. "As you said…Ghost is here. He will protect me."

Ghost yawned and rolled to the other side, ignoring them.

…


	3. The God of Light

**Dany**

The Tempel of Light was smaller than the one in Volantis, but the crowd of people flocking there was astounding. The great variety in the crowd of people surprised Dany even more. She spotted men in all know skin colours, ranging from darkest black to pale silk.

Dany stood like a sore thumb. Her dress was painted in an earthy-red colour while the other followers chose bright crimson robes. Malla offered to lend her one of her robes, but Dany declined politely. She liked Mella, but she had no intention to become a follower of the God of Light. She lost her belief in gods during her early childhood.

And yet Malla was able to convince her to visit the Temple of Light. Maybe the reason was her loneliness.

Three moons ago Jon left to join the Second Sons in a campaign to Qohor. What the campaign entailed she didn't know, she only hoped that he will return in time to hold his child in his arms.

She knew that she was with child before he left and had every intention to tell him about it, but then Jon brought up his plan to join a Second Sons. She may hate the idea, but she was aware that they needed the coin. She liked Mella and her, but she couldn't imagine remaining in their home forever.

Jon was working himself to the bones and barely earned enough to pay the rent. Dany herself was well-liked for her writing work among the neighbours, but no merchant or higher-standing Braavosi would be prepared to employ her in his shop. She learned this quickly after she tried to advertise her services to a higher-paying audience. Some of them even threatened her and told her to return to her slave master.

It was a hard lesson, but no surprise. The Braavosi may boast about their freedoms, but when a slave was trying to rise above his station it was seen as a threat.

"You look rather pale," Malla remarked, as they climbed up the many steps leading to the Temple of Light. Dany with her swelling stomach had to walk slower than Malla, but the other woman didn't seem to mind the slower pace. "Is the child giving you problems?"

"No," she replied and laughed. "But the kicking is driving me mad."

Malla laughed and helped her climb up the last step. "Then I am sure it will be a boy."

Dany didn't know what to make of her words. It was a mystery to her how strong kicking can be an indication for a male child, but then she never had a child.

"How do you know?" she asked as they crossed the large courtyard, leading to an arched entrance, flanked by two large torches made of iron. The flames were roaring and two acolytes in crimson robes were singing songs as they continued to stir the flames to life. "You have three girls."

Malla laughed again and put her arm around Dany's shoulder.

"True," she agreed. "But my mother was a midwife. Whenver a child prove a strong kicker it turned out to be a boy. But you are not wrong. Mara was a strong kicker…well, my prediction turned out to be wrong. Sadly, I am not like priestesses of my god. I cannot read the flames."

"Do you think they can really foresee the future?" Dany asked.

"Some can," Malla replied and led her into a long hall, lightened by numerous torches. Another staircase followed. The steps were made of marble as black as the inky sky and the flames reflected on the small surface looked like stars. "I am sure about it."

Dany wished she could share her belief, but kept her doubts to herself.

At the entrance to the sanctuary of the temple they were greeted by two young acolyte girls. They looked very young and when she took a closer look she recognized Hadi under the red-face painting she had applied on her beautiful face.

Dany wanted to greet her, but Malla put her finger on Dany's lips and led her deeper into the temple. Like the other followers they receive a small candle, before they were allowed to pass in the large hall housing the sanctuary of the temple.

The sight of the sanctuary made Dany gasp. On a raised stone pedestal stood a massive cup of roaring flames rising into the night sky above.

An uncountable number of stars twinkled down on her through the open dome. The sheer beauty of it made her forget about her earlier discomfort.

"I told you how beautiful it is ," Mella whispered and pulled her along. "But now we need to be silent or the God of Light will not hear our pleas."

Obediently, Dany followed after Mella and sat down next to her. They sat in the middle of the great hall, right next to large stone pillar made of the same black marble like the reflective stairs outside. Dany could even see her face and silver hair reflected back to her. It looked like a veil of moonlight falling around her shadowed face.

Moments later the ceremony began. About a hundred acolytes accompanied two priestesses leading a procession to the burning cup. The two priestesses were beautiful beyond compare. Both were tall, their pale faces unblemished by time and dressed in flowing silks of crimson. The acolytes wore simpler clothing and their hair was kept short.

Dany was never particularly gifted in music, but the voices of the priestesses were soothing to the ear, almost like a lullaby. The music had an almost hypnotising effect on her mind.

It took all her concentration to understand the verses of the song, spoken in a rather old dialect of High Valyrian.

 _You are in my heart, God of Light!_

 _There is no other who knows you,_

 _Only your loyal children, who you have taught your might._

 _Those on earth come from your hand as you made them._

 _When you have dawned they live._

 _When you set they die;_

 _You yourself are lifetime, one lives by you._

 _All eyes are on your beauty until you set._

 _All labor ceases when you rest in the west;_

 _Your light banishes away the darkness._

 _Your children pray to thee,_

 _Protect us from harm and the false gods._

 _Shine a light and lead us through the darkness._

 _For the night is dark and full of terrors!_

"For the night is dark and full of terrors!" the voices of the followers echoed through the hall. Dany felt a shiver running down her spine as they continued to chant.

 _The false gods_ , she thought and wondered what they would think of Jon's gods. _Why do they need protection from false gods?_

Yet she was beginning to understand the appeal of the God of Light as her gaze wandered over the assembled crowd. Most people here came from humble backgrounds, their clothing dirty and ragged. Many sported faded slave marks and others were beggars hailing from the dirty parts of the city. The God of Light made no difference between poor and rich men. He took and gave as he pleased. It was no wonder that the poor and desolate were flocking to him like sheep, though Dany was sure that some of them only came to receive a warm meal.

Two times a week they offered warm soup and freshly-baked bread to the hungry of the city. Today was not different and even Mella convinced her to partake. Dany wanted to refuse, arguing that she had no need for it.

"Come, child," Mella said softly and pulled her along towards a group of women. Dany noticed instantly that all of them were marked with the tear-like tattoos meant for pleasure slaves. "I want to introduce you to my friends."

"Sisters," she greeted them and graced the women with a soft smile. "I hope you don't mind if bring a friend to join us."

"Of course not," an elderly woman said. She was graced with black leathery skin, her grey hair kept in a long braid falling to her waist. "Be welcome, sister," she added, her eyes fixed on Dany's neck. Today she decided not to wear a shawl, because Mella told her that most slaves would see it as an insult.

"Where do you hail from , child?" another woman asked. She was much younger than Mella, her hair pale like Dany's and her eyes dark like ink.

Dany swallowed hard and decided to be honest.

"I can't remember…I was young when they captured me. I served in Volantis and later I was brought to Westeros. Half a year ago I managed to get here."

Her story earned her stunned looks.

"You must be blessed by R'hllor if you made it through all this," one of the younger women said. Her hair was red like crimson and her eyes blue like the open sea.

"Maybe," Dany replied politely, though their curious looks made her uncomfortable. She didn't want to embarrass Mella. "I hope so."

"Here," the young girl seated next to the crimson-haired girl said and handed her bowl. It was watered soup, littered with herbs and meat. It was not much, but for the beggars it must be a mighty feast. "Eat. You look thin."

Dany had the urge to laugh. She was always thin, but she couldn't tell that to the girl's face.

The rest of the night passed quickly as the girls entertained her with their tales of woe. Dany was surprised how open they spoke about it, but she also noticed the bitterness hidden behind their smiles.

Compared to them Dany had an almost kind upbringing. She never lacked proper food and her Mistress never hurt her. Her life in the North was hard, but her time there was too short to leave a harrowing memory on her mind. By now she had almost forgotten about it.

It was past midnight as they made their way back to down to their residence, the stars and the moon lightening their way.

Few people could be seen on the streets and thus the two men, garbed in rich velvet cloaks stood out to her like a sore thumb. That their faces were shadowed by their cloaks added to her feeling of discomfort.

The cobbled street was broad and wide, but the men walked straight towards them. Dany felt a hint of apprehension, but only when Mella's fingernails started to dig into her arm she started to feel fearful.

"Whore!" one of them cursed and spit into Mella's face. "Your Master should have cut off your limps and fed you to the crows. A slave should know his place."

Mella didn't move, her gaze unyielding as she brushed the spittle from her cheek.

"You will come to rue your deeds, whore!" the other man added loudly. Then they were gone, swallowed by the darkness.

Dany trembled, completely taken off guard by their behaviour.

Mella was calm, though her features betrayed anger. It seems this was not the first time this happened to her.

"Child," Mella said after a moment of silence had passed between them. "Do you care for a cup of tea?"

"Tea?" Dany asked."Now?"

"We shouldn't take our usual route home," Mella explained and pulled on Dany's arm."Come…I know a nearby tavern."

"Who were these men?" Dany asked after they sat down at table near the entrance.

"Brutes…they work for the _slave masters_ ," Mella explained, her face guarded and her hand resting on her amulet.

"They bribe them to harass escaped slaves and those who strive against their crimes. I am one of these people and that is why they insulted me."

Dany felt liked slapped, realization dawning on her.

"The burns…You were a slave?"

Mella smiled and patted her cheeks.

"Of course I was a slave," she confirmed.

"And that is the sole reason these men insulted you?"

"Yes," Mella explained and graced her with another smile. "As I said…I am working against them. The women you saw…we are part of a group. We help escaped slaves, but we also gather money to smuggle them to Braavos. Our initiative is founded by the Iron Bank."

"The Iron Bank?" Dany asked, unable to believe it. "They are giving you money to smuggle slaves?"

Mella chuckled and took a sip from her cup of steaming tea.

"Well, I doubt they are doing it because they are selfless," she replied. "But one of my friends serves the wife of Tycho Nestoris. She is one of us, though she hails from a very old family that once resided behind the Black Walls of Volantis. Her father fell victim to a political scandal and was disinherited. Downtrodden and penniless he had no other choice but to sell himself and his daughter into slavery. She never told my friend how she ended up as Tycho Nestoris wife, but they say she was very beautiful in her youth. Anyway, her husband funds our initiative. I don't think I have to say that the slavers are not happy about our actions and thus they are employing brutes to disparage our cause."

Dany was stunned by her tale.

"That sounds foul," Dany replied. "Someone should report them. Isn't slavery a crime?"

"True," Mella added and placed her cup of tea back on the wooden table. "Slavery is a crime, but holding a view that supports slavery is not forbidden. And we have no proof."

"So we can nothing we can do nothing against it?" she asked.

"We?" Mella asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Do you want to join us? Are you not afraid?"

"I am not afraid," she assured her, though it was a lie. "I can read and write High Valyrian and several other languages and dialects…Could that be of use to you?"

Mella's eyes widened in surprise.

"You can read and write High Valyrian?"

"Aye," she confirmed proudly.

Mella smiled and patted her shoulder.

"I think you could indeed be of help to us."

…

 **Jon**

The rising sun painted the river _Darkwash_ in a bloody glimmer. Beyond the river Jon spotted a sea of pine-trees as dark as the river before them.

 _This is the true gold of Qohor_ , one of the sergeant's told them. _With the sold lumber the rulers of Qohor buy their armies of Unsullied._

Busco, another recruit who hails from Braavos told him great detail what the training of the Unsullied entailed. _Torture, murder and blood_ , he summed it up. Caspian and Rollo, two other recruits hailing from Braavos refused to believe it.

 _No man would be able to slaughter babes_.

This incident occurred two days ago, but Jon and Busco soon found other companions who didn't hesitate to share their gruesome stories with them.

Tito, a Sheepman, didn't hesitate to tell them about their enemy, the Dothraki. Even in Westeros they knew about them; valiant warriors armed with bows and curved blades. Yet it was their fearlessness in face of death that made them so dangerous.

 _Never face a Dothraki horde on an open field_ , Tito had told him and bared his white teeth. He spoke their language well, but was prone to confuse certain words, which often led to amusing misunderstandings.

Jon liked him, because the young reminded him of Robb. Like his brother the young man excelled with the lance, though Jon was still the better swordsman. Yet it was the preferred choice of weapon among the Second Sons. Every recruit received one, accompanied by a shield and leather armour. Most men brought their own horses, but those who were less fortunate had to accept a deduction from their salary to acquire a horse.

Jon was one of these unfortunate souls, but the salary would still be enough to live a year without worries.

"What are you frowning about, Jon?" Busco asked and watched a group of men running off in the bushes with two camp whores. They usually slept close to the Commander's tent who frequently asked for their company.

Jon felt only disgust when he thought of the leader of the Second Sons. Captain Mero was a tall man and sported a bushy red-gold beard. He gave the impression of a seasoned warrior, but after tree moons in the man's service Jon felt nothing but dislike for the man.

While his men starved and were forced to sleep on the hard floor he resided in a tent of Myrish silk and sipped his wine from a golden cup. Jon was not the only person who held this opinion, but like all the others he kept his mouth shut.

 _Only six moons_ , he told himself and forced a smile over his lip. _Only six moons._

"Our mission," he replied. "Why do the rulers of Qohor employ sellswords to fight the Dothraki horde when they have these unbeatable Unsullied at their disposal?"

Busco frowned and rubbed his bearded face. He was one or two years older than Jon, but he had the face of a boy, all soft and without the hint of a scar. Why he decided to join a sellsword company was a mystery to Jon, because the young man wasn't particularly gifted with the sword, though he was a passable rider.

"I have no idea," Jon replied at last and shifted his attention to Tito, who was oiling his blade. "You claim to know everything about these Dothraki…Why do you think they employed us to fight the Dothraki horde?"

"The Dothraki are strong and valiant, but they are not exactly cunning. They wear no armour and they don't know how to take cities protected by stone walls. They would never be able to take Qohor with its high walls and his army of Unsullied. That is why they attack the smaller towns along the trade lines. The rulers of Qohor usually pay ransom to the Dothraki to stop the attacks, but the first six moons of these saw already two major attacks. It seems they want to make clear to the Dothraki that they crossed a line, though I am not sure the _Second Sons_ and the _Stormcrows_ will be enough. The high payment promise danger and blood."

"Well, we are safe for now," Tito added and jerked his head at the camp. It lay situated before a hilly landscape, the river Darkwash curling behind it and disappearing in the dark forest. Mero was a fool, but the man who decided about the placement of the camp chose a good place. It was a compact camp, orderly and well-defended. A deep ditch was dug around the outskirts, sharp stakes jutting into the air like sharp fangs. "The Dothraki can't swim and this place here is the only possible crossing point for horses."

"How comforting," Jon added sarcastically. "Maybe it would be best to simply lure them near water and drown them."

Busco wrinkled his brows in confusion. "There is a river over there if it escaped your attention, friend."

"It didn't escape my attention," Jon replied. "I was thinking of a lake…not a river. Besides, it was a silly notion. I was just joking."

Yet Tito seemed to like the idea, his golden-brown eyes alight with amusement.

"My Uncle knew a man who escaped from _Vaes Dothrak_ …not far from the city you can find a mighty lake the Dothraki like to use for cleaning rituals. I wish we could just drown all these bloody Khals in this lake. That would be quite ironic."

His joke was laced with anger, but that was no surprise to Jon. Even in Braavos they heard about the woes of the Sheepmen. Their towns were often raided by the Dothraki horde and its inhabitants sold into slavery. Dany knew numerous girls who suffered this fate.

"Certainly," Jon agreed and pulled his cloak over his shoulder. Then he emptied his cup of watered wine and rolled to his side. He was a man born and bred in the north, but Qohor proved colder than anticipated. The days were pleasantly warm and the sky crispy blue, but the nights were freezing cold.

Even now his breath left his mouth in the form of white puffs rising up into the starry sky.

 _Dany's is right_ , he thought before falling asleep. _This here is much different than the practice yard of Winterfell._

…

The sun had barely risen beyond the horizon as they crossed the river. The road that followed filled Jon and the other recruits with discomfort. The path before them proved narrow and not all suitable for mounted riders. Even worse was the hilly landscape rising to the north and covered with thick forests.

"Why the frown, friend?" Busco asked habitually as always. "Do you think someone will jump out of the woods and attack us?"

Jon laughed, trying to hide his apprehension and tightening his grip on his spear. He felt almost like a knight, ready to storm into the next enemy.

Prince Rhaegar was known to be a masterful jouster and yet he failed in his most important battle against Robert Baratheon.

Who knows what the world would look like had he won?

Jon met King Robert and found little to admire about the man. He has grown fat and spent his days consorting with whores. How is he any different from Mero?

Prince Rhaegar was a fool for running away with his Lady mother, but there had to be something good about him. Why else did men die for him? Or did they just die for the crown?

Such questions were whirling through his mind in these quiet hours of waiting.

"This place is the perfect place for an ambush," Tito added and flashed Jon an assuring smile. "But I doubt the brave Dothraki would choose such a cowardly hiding place. The word Ambush is a foreign to them. They would never hide away from their enemy."

"Sounds comforting," Jon replied and forced a smile over his lips. His arse was wound from the long ride and he longed to stretch his limps, but that was only the beginning of their hardships.

They travelled for endless hours along the road, before they arrived at an elevated ridge overseeing a long plain-like landscape. It looked as if someone burned off the woods and left nothing more than scorched earth.

 _The work of the Dothraki horde_ , Tito had explained, but Jon refused to believe it. _Why would they burn away such precious trees?_

 _To get more ransom_ , Tito had answered, but to Jon it was a waste. Wood was precious good to the people in the North, but it seems the Dothraki don't share their beliefs.

Yet that was only a small part of the devastation left by the Dothraki horde. A day later Jon and the other recruits were separated to join scouting teams and soon they were confronted with more and more bloodshed.

Half a day they rode and passed one devasted village after another. They found burned fields, bloated corpses and heads put on pikes.

The sight made Jon sick, though he tried to hide it from the other more experienced men. He didn't want to give the impression of a green boy.

Now and then they found women and children, wandering aimlessly through the landscape, their eyes riddled with madness.

"Curse them!" Tito exclaimed when they found the corpse of a woman, her limps and head cut off and arranged in some odd blood ritual. "May the Great Shepard banish their souls in the darkest pit of hell."

Busco was deadly silent and hardly spoke as they made camp and slept in the desolated ruins of the town. At night they only heard the whispering of the wind blowing through the collapsed wooden palisades that once surrounded this dwelling.

"These Dothraki are exceptional bloody," Vhraesi, the leader of their scouting team muttered to himself. He hailed from Norvos and was a veteran of war. It was hard to guess his age, but his hair was completely grey and his face riddled with deep scars as if someone pushed needles into his bare skin. "It seems a _khalasar_ chose a new Khal."

"What has the choosing of a new Khal to do with all this bloodshed?"

"Whenver a new Khal is named they try to establish their reputation. It seems this one wants a bloody one. Every _khalasar_ is different, but you never know what goes through the mind of a Dothraki."

The man's words gave Jon much to ponder until he finally fell asleep. The sun woke him mercilessly and by midday they made it back to their camp located on the ride.

"Finally!" their leader gasped and stroked his beard. "The _Stormcrows_ found us."

They counted around five-hundred men, but their equipment proved much better than their own. Both men and horses were equipped with proper armour.

Their commanders proved also more agreeable than Mero. None one of them bedecked themselves in comforts above the men riding under them.

No, they even drank with the fresh recruits, though Jon got the feeling this done out of pure amusement.

Yet it gave Jon the possibility to get a look at their allies.

There were three join commanders leading the Stormcrows. Daario Naharis, the first joint-commander, was a strangely-looking man with a blue beard, his clothing far too bright for a mercenary. Yet he seemed to enjoy the trust of his men and Jon couldn't find any fault in him other than his strange appearance. The second joint commander was a man named Sallor the Bald who sported a twisting scar on his right cheek. Apart from his tendency to pick his nose with great regularity he spoke very little and poured down one cup after another. The third man was a man named Prendahl na Ghezn and hailed from Ghiscar.

The watered wine flowed, but Jon stopped at the third cup.

"You are rather pale around the face, my boy," Daario Naharis japed and pointed his blade at Jon."Is the pisswater wine too much for you?"

Jon forced a smile over his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

"Seeing the mangled corpses the Dothraki left for us taints even the best wine," he replied and earned himself an amused smile.

"That is true…we have yet to pay witness to their bloody deeds," he replied and refilled his cup, his eyes still fixed at Jon. "You are not from Essos, are you? Your accent is strange."

"I hail from the Westeros… the North," he replied vaguely.

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Westeros," he repeated and his eyes widened in surprise. "What brings a boy from Westeros all the way to Essos?"

"An adventurous spirit," Jon replied vaguely, but Busco decided to piss into his soup.

"Oh, come on, Jon!" his friend exclaimed and patted his shoulder. "Why not tell him about your heroic tale?"

"Heroic tale?" Daario asked and stroked his blue beard. "Oh, please tell me about your heroic tale. That is an order."

"I follow only Commander Mero's commands and not yours," Jon rebuffed him.

Daario laughed, but Busco told him anyway. Probably out of fear from the other man.

"Jon freed a girl from a brothel," he explained. "A noble deed, isn't it?"

Instantly, the mocking smile vanished from Daario's face and was exchanged with an almost serious expression.

"My mother was a whore," he said and raised his cup to his lips. "She was a pretty woman and drank herself to death. I wish my cunt of a father who impregnated her would have done the same. These slavers are a nasty bunch. I wish the Dothraki would raid their cities instead of providing them with fresh meat."

Jon couldn't help but to smile.

"I think this is something we both can agree on."

…

 **Arya**

She hadn't been allowed to leave her rooms for days. She forgot what fresh air tasted like, but even a blue sky and the tough of warm sunlight on her skin wouldn't be able to wash away the bitterness in her mouth.

Weeks ago her father was imprisoned by Prince, no King Joffrey, but why and how it happened was still a mystery to her. All she knew is that Sansa had something to do with it, because when the Kingsguard came to capture her they mentioned that her sister proved herself loyal to the new King.

Arya still refused to believe it. Sansa could be stupid, but selling out their father to the enemy was another matter.

Yet Arya still recalled Sansa's horrified reaction after Lord Father announced his intentions to send them back to Winterfell.

Arya was delighted, though she was saddened to leave her dancing master, but Sansa cried bitter tears and refused to speak to their Lord Father in the following days.

So far Arya has yet to get a glimpse of her sister, but she guessed that she was kept under guard like her.

The Queen had no qualms to demand Lady's death. Arya doubted Sansa's betrothal to Joff would stop the Queen from imprisoning her sister if meant to serve her cause.

 _I hate them,_ she muttered to herself, her face plastered against the painted window. Outside she spotted the Gold Cloaks marching over the courtyard, two servant girls talking to the guards and a bare-headed man garbed in a lilac tunic speaking to two small children.

It was impossible to escape from here. She tried numerous times, but every time they caught her and the Queen had her disciplined for her disobedience.

 _Wild little animal_ , she liked to call her, but Arya couldn't care less what the evil Queen or her stupid son thought of her. If Nymeria was here she would order her to bite off their heads.

Yet Nymeria was far away and now even Needle was taken from her. The Queen took her blade away after she tried to stab the Prince and a day later Joff made her watch as her brother's git as melted into a nice drinking cup.

Arya never felt more hatred for a human being than in this moment.

 _May he choke on his wine!_

Yet her precious blade remained lost.

The thought alone was enough to conjure tears to her eyes and made her grab the windowsill until her knuckles started to ache _._

"Lady Arya Stark!" a hated voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She hadn't even noticed the entrance of Ser Meryn Trant, but the bruises still marking his cheek made her smile.

 _My best work._

"Your sister Lady Sansa is here to speak with you."

Relief washed over her as she spotted Sansa hovering near the entrance. She looked pale, her hair delicately braided and garbed in a simple black dress.

"Please leave us alone," she told Ser Meryn who obeyed without and closed the door behind him.

Instantly, Arya hopped to her feet and embraced her tightly.

"I heard you misbehaved," her sister remarked quietly, her hand brushing over Arya's cheek. "Why are you making it harder than necessary?"

Arya felt like slapped and backed away from her.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "They imprisoned our Lord father! We have to get away and leave this cursed city!"

"I cannot leave," Sansa insisted stubbornly. "I am betrothed to the King. He loves me and I will convince him to show mercy to our Lord Father, though he committed treachery against our King."

"Loves you?" Arya asked and continued to walk backwards until she hit the stone wall. "Do you even listen to yourself? He imprisoned our Lord Father!"

"I know that," Sansa replied and gave her a chiding look. "But what choice did he have? Our Lord Father named him a bastard of incest. As I said before…I will convince him to show father mercy. His love is true…I know it. He will allow father to take the Black."

"You call that mercy?" she asked, her voice rising louder and louder. "If our Lord father called Joff a bastard then I am sure it is true. Father would never lie about something like that."

Yet Sansa remained unmoved by her tantrum.

"Arya," she sighed heavily. "You are behaving like an unruly child. If you insisting on behaving like this you will have to remain here. Your talk would only displease the King and it will only be harder for me to convince him."

Arya remained silent for a long time, all kind of violent thoughts rushing through her mind.

She tried to keep her composure, but being locked up here for days and the loss of Needle made her prone to throes of anger.

"Then go back to your stupid King!" she snapped, turned around and crossed her arms in defiance. "Marry him and have his bastards! I can't endure your stupid talk any longer! Go away!"

"As you wish!" she heard Sansa's angry and the clash of the door.

She was alone again.


	4. The Golden Horde

**Jon**

The vanguard consisted of eighty riders. Around twenty of them belonged to the _Stormcrows_ , but the rest belonged to the _Second Sons_. Their leader was Vhraesi or the _Old Man_ as the others recruits liked to call him. That the Vhraesi chose Jon was a surprise. He was a passable rider, but he was never good with the lance.

"I can see something!" the cry of his companion snapped him out of his thougts. His name a Pentoshi, but his name escaped Jon."Camp ahead!"

Jon narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight and tried to find this camp. It took him a moment, but then he saw it too. Hidden behind a cliffy landscape he spotted tents, horses and the black smoke of cookfires rising into the sky. The earth-like colour of the tents made it hard to see them in the barren landscape surrounding them.

"Lower your voice, fool!" Vhraesi snapped at the man and flashed him an angry look. "They may have put up sentries."

"Of course," the man replied and lowered his head apologetically.

"What are we going to do now, old man?" a man going by the name _Red Axe_ remarked. He belonged to the Stormcrows and thought himself above the others. His tone towards their leader was beyond rude, but Vhraesi ignored him and came straight to the point.

"Simply…we are going to throw fire in the hornets' nest," the old man whispered to them. "I will send two men to scout the camp. I need to know where they keep their baggage carts and horses. Then we will put them on fire and lure the horde down our chosen path. Is that understood?"

His question was confirmed by quiet mutters and soon two men were chosen to fulfil the task.

The hours of waiting that followed proved worst and even after their companions had returned Jon's apprehension intensified. He tried not to show it openly, but Tito's stories and what he saw of the Dothraki unsettled him.

"Ready?" Vhraesi asked in a whispering voice and jerked his head towards the eastern side of the camp as they moved along a row pale hills swirling around the Dothraki camp. There on the outskirts of the camp Jon spotted several hundred horses and carts packed with food and other belongings.

"Ready!" Jon answered in unison with the others and tightened his grip on the reins of his horse. They moved slowly, the rising sun painting the sky in pink light. As they reached the end of the pale hills they took a deep breath and lit their torches. Their companions had found no sentries in this direction and thus it was unlikely that the Dothraki would be able to see them, yet Jon was unable to brush away his fears.

"All will be well," he heard Tito's assuring voice and felt his touch on his shoulder. "It is quite clear that they had a victory celebration. They will all be drunk. Marli said so.

Marli was one of the two men chosen to scout for sentries. He was a Sheepman like Tito, but very quiet compared to his chatty kinsman.

"Victory celebration?" Jon asked, keeping his voice intentionally low. "They butchered villages and dismembered women. What is there to celebrate about?"

"Don't try to make sense of barbarians…it is no use," his friend replied and straightened himself in his saddle.

Jon swallowed hard and followed after the others, before descending on the Dothraki camp.

Tito's prediction turned out to be true. Nobody was there to stop them as they descended on the baggage carts and herds of horses. A few men stood guard, armed with nothing more than their famous curved blades. They were barely able to raise their swords, before they were rolled over.

They did as they were commanded and set fire to the baggage carts while around twenty other men did their best to drive apart the horses.

Soon the flames were rising and the camp was coming alive. Jon heard shouts, the language foreign to his ears, but they didn't linger for long. They set aflame another row of baggage carts, before wheeling their horses around and driving them back to their chosen path.

Jon didn't dare to look back as he drove his horse forward. He feared to find a horde of horsemen rolling over him.

He kept his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, his eyes burning from the dust and smoke.

It was long past midday when they made it back to the camp.

Jon felt only relief as he spotted the blurry outlines of their camp, the armour and shields of their men shimmering in the midday heat.

They had spent two days to fortify the ridge with two wooden forts, ditches and sharp stakes, but Jon felt that all their effort paled in comparison to the might of the Dothraki horde.

 _Around twenty-thousand men_ , women and children, Tito had estimated. _That means around fifteen-thousand riders._

Jon had swallowed hard when he heard this, but like the others he tried to keep up an appearance of indifference.

Together the _Second Sons_ and the _Stormcrows_ counted three-thousand men. It was like a drop falling on the desert ground. No wonder the payment was high.

 _I should have known better._

"Did you lose any riders?" Commander Mero demanded to know from Vhraesi, before he was even able to dismount from his horse. About ten of their men had split from their group earlier to look out for the Dothraki horde. Vhraesi was confident that they would follow their trails.

Their high position gave them an advantage, but they were vastly outnumbered.

"No," Vhraesi replied and dismounted in a quick motion. "All riders made it back. We can continue with our plans."

"The archers are ready," Daario added, garbed in full armour, his blue hair hidden under his helmet. "Sallor knows his task. I hope your men know theirs."

Mero frowned and straightened himself. It was not hard to deduce that the two of them held little love for each other, but then hardly anyone liked Mero. Even his own men disliked him. Why he hasn't been murdered until now was a mystery to him.

"Do you question my men's abilities?"

"Of course not, Commander," Daario replied mockingly.

"I hope for you that we have enough arrows," Vhraesi interrupted, a hint of frustration visible on his lined face. "We found a horde counting thirty-thousand men and about fifteen-thousand riders. Our quarrels can be settled after the battle is fought."

Mero huffed.

"Stop instructing me and prepare your men, old man. If this goes wrong we will all die."

Then he left, making his back to his shiny tent.

Vhraesi and the other sub-commanders did as they were commanded and prepared for battle. Blades were oiled, a few more stakes were put into the ground and soon each man took his assigned position.

Jon carried a shield, a spear and his sword. Only a few hundred of their men remained mounted and built their rear-guard. Most of them belonged to the _Stormcrows_ , their heavy armour the best protection against the approaching enemy. About half of their men formed a shieldwall spreading over the ridge.

Behind the shieldwall sat men, each armed with a longbow. The rest of the archers were placed at the flanks and protected by stakes, about a third of them armed with longbows and other shorter-ranging weapons.

The longbow, made of yew, was a difficult weapon to handle, because it demanded both strength and practice. Jon had observed the training of the archers and realized that every single one of them was an experienced warrior. He found only three green boys among them, all of them buff and strong like bears.

"Jon!" Tito whispered and patted his shoulder. "Can you hear them too?"

Jon nodded his head. It sounded like rolling thunder, but even this sound was soon drowned out by the ear-bleeding cries of the Dothraki horde.

The _Golden horde_ as Tito called them.

Jon tightened his grip on his spear and kept his shield up. He had the sudden urge to ride away as the first horses stormed up the ridge towards the raised pikes.

Jon, placed in the back rows didn't see much of them, but heard the cries of horse and men alike. Gritting his teeth he lowered his shield to throw his spear at the approaching wave of enemies. Jon was unable to see where his spear landed, but he spotted several riders impaled or catapulted from their horses.

They lifted their shields gain as the next wave approached. Again the might of the Dothraki cavalry collided with the shieldwall, pushing them backwards. Jon gasped for air, sweat running down his cheeks. Before him he saw only shields and behind him the arrows hissed down at the enemy below, the air filled with the cries of dying horses.

 _This is madness_ , he thought as this procedure continued endlessly. _How did the Dothraki train their horses to run into raised pikes?_

Hours passed and no end was in sight. The shieldwall stood strong, but the first rows were thinning while the heaps of the corpses grew higher and higher. It way long past evening when the hissing of the arrows ceased and the reserve was sent towards the approaching enemy. Their heavy armour protected them from the countless Dothraki arrows, but they were still outnumbered.

Jon eyed them with envy, not because he was longing for the thrill of riding through a horde of barbarians, but because he was slowly suffocating. His feet felt numb and he longed to stretch his limbs.

"Gods!" he heard Busco's gasp. "Will it ever end?"

"Shut up!" he heard another man's curse that was soon drowned out by the sound of rearing horses.

Long after Jon had stopped counting the hours, the enemy stopped its attack and left.

Jon was stunned, but also relieved.

The battle was finally over and the ridge below was covered in dead men and horses alike. The smell was even worse, maggots and flies already festering in the dead corpses. Some of the Dothraki warriors were still alive, some of them littered with numerous arrows.

Jon and the other green recruits were tasked to make sure that they don't see the next day.

Jon felt only disgust. The Dothraki were barbarians, but besting a man in battle felt much different than giving him the deathblow when he was lying on the ground and unable to move.

Yet that was what Jon signed up for.

To make it easier he recalled the butchered villages, but it didn't give him the same thrill other men liked to boast about when they took a man's life.

Tito was different. He even scoured the heaps of corpses for prominent members of the Dothraki horde. The head of a known Dothraki warrior or a kinsman of a Khal promised additional gold and many a man was prepared to wade through heaps of corpses to get it.

Jon was not such a man.

The night had fallen when Tito returned to join him and Busco, his armour covered in blood and grime. He grinned and emptied his bearskin while Jon continued to watch him with fascination.

"We won a great victory, but you look like sullen as ever, friend," he remarked and took a seat next to Jon. "Now we only need to cash in the promised coin. We didn't get the Khal leading this khalasar, but several of his kinsmen are among them."

"How do you know that again?" Busco asked and snorted in disbelief. "They looked the same to me."

"Their bells and war paint reveals their rank," Tito explained without hesitation.

"I hope you are right," Jon added and exhaled deeply. "But it will take us several weeks to return Qohor. Once we leave this position we are vulnerable for attack and what you told me about the Dothraki makes me believe that they will return to take revenge for this humiliation."

"Maybe," Tito replied hesitatingly. "But our host is smaller and quicker. Once we have crossed the Darwash we should be relatively safe."

"I see," Jon replied and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

They found little sleep that night and mounted their horses before the first rays of sunlight were apparent on the distant horizon.

Not that Jon was able to sleep. The cold and the uncertainty kept him awake.

"Back to Qohor!" he heard his companion's cries of relief. Not even the lack of rations seemed to bother them. The promise of gold seemed more alluring than a proper meal.

Ever slowly, they made their way along the narrow path leading them back to the crossing over the Darkwash.

Only two moons, Jon thought and brushed his fears away. Due to the wounded men it took them nearly three days to reach the promised crossing.

Jon felt only relief when he spotted the dark waters of the Darkwash glimmering in the sunlight.

Yet their enthusiasm was dimmed, when they realized how much the water level had risen since their last crossing weeks ago. Several men tried to lead their horses through the water, but the current carried them away and they drowned in the dark waters of the river.

They had no other choice, but to build a bridge or to cross over at another point.

"There is another crossing point a days' ride away from here," one of the sergeants' informed them and thus their host of men was forced to move further along the river.

It was a horrible mishap that angered the men who hadn't seen a proper meal in days.

Mero drove them mercilessly, but the commanders of the Stormcrows put an end to the death march after several of their horses and wounded had died in the previous night.

They made camp near a slope of the river. There they used their spears to catch fish while small scores of men were sent out to hunt.

It was in this moment that Jon appreciated Bran's love for fishing. After several hours of wading through the riverbank he had caught an impressive amount of fish and was soon roasting them over a warm cookfire.

It tasted heavenly, but it didn't help to fill his stomach.

That night sleep came easier to him. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but his sleep proved as dark and as deep as the waters of the Darkwash.

It was the sound of rolling thunder that woke him from his slumber. At first he thought it a dream, a mirage, but then he recalled the sound from his first maiden battle.

Horse hooves, he knew and instinctively grabbed for his blade. Tito and Busco were still asleep, but Jon didn't hesitate to kick them awake.

"Wake up!" he shouted. "Wake up!"

Busco grumbled, but Tito was quickly on his feet and grasped for his spear.

"Can you hear it?" he asked his friend, who opened his mouth to speak, his voice drowned out by the cry of the Dothraki riders washing over the camp.

Jon didn't waste single breath and picked up his shield, before making his way back to his horse, bound to a nearby tree. The animal reared in fear, but Jon was able to calm it down and climb on its back. By the time he was seated in his saddle the camp had descended into chaos.

Men scrambled out of their tents and were cut down before they were even able to grab their weapons. Jon himself found himself soon under attack.

It was a young warrior, his curved blade meeting his shield, bringing forth a clinking sound. Jon didn't give him a chance to retaliate and buried its blade in the enemy's horse.

The animal shrieked and Jon ended the man with a cut to his head.

After a brief moment of search, he spotted Busco trying to fend off a Dothraki rider on foot, an arrow sticking from his shoulder. The warrior was strong and able, his curved blade cutting Busco open like a pig.

The Dothraki warrior laughed, his numerous bells tingling as he moved his head in Jon's direction.

Without further hesitation he wheeled his horse around and leaned down to pull out the spear he had put into the ground, before going to sleep.

"Busco!" he shouted and lifted the spear as he continued to urged his horse towards the enemy.

The Dothraki warrior was not even able to move out of the way, before he was impaled and thrown from his horse.

He looked slightly different from other warriors. His braid reached nearly to his waist, his face painting unnatural bright. His painted vest accentuated with gold made Jon believe that he was someone very important.

Yet Jon had no time to waste on the warrior.

A volley of arrows caught him off guard and he was barely able to lift his shield to protect himself. His horse reared and he was thrown backwards on the ground

Two arrows hit his shield and one lodged itself into his armour, bringing forth a painful feeling in his right shoulder.

"Busco…," he turned around as he searched for his friend, but it was no use. His eyes were empty, a puddle of blood spreading beneath him.

When Jon turned around he saw twelve warriors, their curved blades raised and circling around him as he lay unmoving on the ground.

Yet their eyes were not fixed on Jon, but on the impaled warrior.

Jon waited for the death blow, but the men ignored him and continued to whisper to each other in their foreign language.

Instead of continuing to fight, one of the men unhorsed and pulled the dead warrior on his horse.

Then they wheeled their horses around and left Jon, lying there, the smell of blood lingering in his nose. He still felt the arrow sticking in his shoulder and blood was running into his face. Carefully, he touched the back of his head and winced in pain.

He must have hit his head when he fell from the horse. Ever slowly, he tried to pull himself on his feet, the world around him starting to spin in circles.

A sudden feeling of sickness overcame him and he fell back on his knees, before emptying his stomach on the ground.

He tried to pull himself up one more time, before he collapsed and was swallowed by the darkness.

…

 **Dany**

The sun had sunken beyond _Ragman's Port_ when Dany returned to her humble home. She sold all oysters and even the fish.

Feeling the weariness in her bones she longed for nothing more than a bath. Eight moons along she felt more like a burden than a help, though neither Mella nor the girls complained about it. No, they even helped her with her daily chores.

As dutiful as ever young Shala awaited her with a bucket of water.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" she asked like always. Sometimes it was Mara or even Hadi who helped her, but most of the time it Shala. Dany harboured the suspicion that the girl liked coming here because of Ghost. Every free minute she was trying to play with him and make him repeat the tricks Jon showed to her before his departure.

"Oh, please," Shala replied happily and brushed her fingers through Ghost's fur. The wolf ignored her and rolled to the side. The lack of exercise made him lazy. Sometimes she took him for a walk, but the stares of the people made her uncomfortable.

When Jon returns you will have to give up your laziness, she thought and poured the steaming water in a cup.

"Is that enough?" she asked the girl, but Shala's attention was fixed on the heap of papers stacked on the table. Most of the documents concerned slave transports, all written in the finest High Valyrian. Dany didn't know how Mella got these documents, but were a great help to her. Most of her work consisted in forging documents, but even this task proved harder than expected. Depending on the city the slave masters use different phrases in their correspondence. To get the wording right was incredibly difficult.

"Nothing exciting," she lied and brushed the letters aside.

"Here your cup of tea," she added and held it out to the girl.

The girl thanked her and started to sip on her coup, her eyes wandering to Jon's box harbouring the dragon eggs. Sometimes, Dany picked them out of the box and placed them in the cookfire. It was a silly notion, but she sometimes dreamed that they would hatch like in her brother's stories.

"Can I see?" Shala asked hopefully.

"Yes, but only briefly," Dany replied at last and opened the box. "It belongs to Jon…I have no right to it."

The girl's eyes widened, a strange expression washing over her face. Maybe it was only her imagination, but it was not the first time this happened. Whenver Dany brought up Jon, Mella and the girls grew strangely silent as if they knew more they wanted to say.

She wanted to bring it up, but she always told herself that it won't matter when Jon returns.

Six moons had come and gone, but Jon has yet to return. That the campaign could take longer than expected was something she expected, but Shala's behaviour unsettled her.

Now or never, she thought and sat down next to Shala, who was still admiring Jon's eggs.

"Are these jewels?" the girl asked innocently.

"No, these are eggs," she replied and touched the black egg. As always, it was warm and pulsing like a small flame.

In that specific moment the child kicked her and left her gasping for air.

"Are you well?" the girl asked and touched her shoulder. "Shall I call for mother?"

Dany chuckled and patted the girl's shoulder.

"I am well," she assured her and decided to make use of the moment to inquire about her strange behaviour.

"Say, Shala," she said and forced a smile over her lips. "Did you hear something about Jon that I should know about?

The girl paled.

"Father he heard…mother told me not to tell you," the girl stuttered fearfully.

Her tone frightened Dany more than she wanted to admit.

"Shala," she said and swallowed hard. "What did your father hear?"

"The men Jon is fighting with…the Second Sons…they were defeated by…by these Do…Dothraki…at least that is what my father heard from the sailors," she continued to stutter and gave Dany a fearful look.

Dany felt a hint of sickness washing over her, but she tried to keep a calm composure in front of the girl.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and put her cup away. Her hand was trembling, but at least she kept her tears in control as she shifted her attention back on the girl.

"Shala," she addressed the girl as politely as possible. "I am tired. Please don't tell your mother about our talk."

"I will do as you say," the Shala replied quietly and slipped out of the room.

The moment the door had closed behind her the tears came rolling down her cheeks.

 _It is my fault._

 _I should have told him to stay._

 _My fault_ , she thought and sank to her knees before the hearth. The box was still open, the eggs shimmering like tree precious gemstones. _My fault._

Her ragged sobs must have alarmed Ghost, for he was suddenly there, licking her face as if he wanted to comfort her.

"Stupid wolf!" she told him and buried her face in his thick fur. "I told him not to be brave!"

Ghost seemed to share her sadness and whimper softly, before settling down on the dusty carpet beside her.

"No, I am stupid," she muttered to herself and enclosed the wolf's head. "It should have told him…then he wouldn't have left."

She wanted comfort, someone to tell her that everything would be alright.

Yet Ghost didn't answer, his ruby eyes watching her ever silently as he continued to lick her face.

…

She didn't know how it had happened, but she woke on the floor, Ghost curled around her.

It was a loud cry that woke her, the voice familiar to her ears.

Rubbing her eyes, she rose to her feet and dragged herself to the window. Carefully, she opened the panes, an even sharper cry pierced through the night that left her shuddering.

 _Mella!_

 _The girls!_

With a beating heart, she rushed back to her bed and retrieved the blade she kept hidden there under the blankets.

By the time she was moving back to the door, Ghost had risen from his place near the hearth.

"Ghost," she whispered and jerked her head towards the door, her feet weak like pudding. "Come along!"

The wolf hesitated as if he was confused by her command.

"Ghost!" she repeated more loudly. "Please! Come with me!"

Finally, the white wolf started to follow after her as she made her way outside and up the steps leading up to Mella's home.

Her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest as found the door wide open. She hesitated for a moment, but a painful whimper and a loud bang snapped her out of her frozen state.

She tightened her grip on her dagger and stepped inside the anteroom, Ghost following after her like a shadow.

It was in the middle of the night, but even the darkness was unable to conceal her grizzly finding. Mella lay sprawled on the ground, her eyes empty and dead. Her skull must have been bashed by something hard, so much Dany deduced from the bloody wound showing on her head.

"Let me go!" she heard Mara's desperate voice rattled down the stairs leading to the upper sleeping compartments.

Leaning against the wall, she pulled herself up the stairs, Ghost leading the way as if he was aware of the danger ahead.

There, sprawled on the steps she found Shala, unmoving and her limps arranged in a strange position. Someone must have pushed her down the steps, Dany realized at once.

"Please!" she heard Mara's cry coming from the room at the end of the corridor. "Please!"

Gasping for air she followed the voices rattling down the stairs. Reaching the top she found a corridor, broken furniture and the clear signs of a fight visible to her.

Dany didn't hesitate to move down the corridor, though her feet felt weak and wobbly. Ghost's presence gave her the assurance she needed.

Inside she found Mara and two men. They one was copper-skinned and the other one pale-skinned like Dany. The pale one was cowering on the ground, his head sporting a nasty wound. The copper one was trying to press a struggling Mella to the ground.

Their velvet cloaks sparked her memory: the brutes who insulted Mella.

And now they came to kill her.

And Shala.

Hatred beyond reason filled her to the brim and she plunged her dagger in the man's back. The man shrieked in pain, but her bloody deed was not enough to vanquish him. He noticed her presence and turned around to push her away. The dagger slipped out of her hands and she stumbled backwards, hitting the ground.

She gritted her teeth against the pain in her back and found Ghost burying his teeth in the other man. His painful screams echoed through the room as the other man moved towards her.

Dany closed her eyes, fresh pain surging down her back. It felt as if thousands of needles were piercing through her skin.

Yet nothing happened. She only heard a shout and a loud thud. When she opened her eyes again she found Mara on top of the man, kicking and hitting him as he continued to groan.

Blood splattered Mara's dress and the man's cloak, but she didn't stop. Over and over again she hit him as Dany pulled herself back to her feet.

"Stop it!" she shouted at the girl and pulled on her shoulder. "He is dead and gone!"

"I don't care!" the girl snapped back at her, her red hair falling like flames around her flushed face. "He killed my mother!"

"I know," Dany replied through greeted teeth, another surge of pain wrecking her body. "But we can't waste time."

Instantly, Mara stopped, her breathing laboured as she stared back at Dany.

Ghost trailed back to Dany's side, licking her fingers as she trembled in pain.

"Are you in great pain?" the Mara asked fearfully and moved to her side, brushing her shoulders. "I am sorry…I was just…What shall we do?"

"We can't leave your mother and sister lying down there…your father won't return for long…contact your mother's friends…we need to go somewhere else…they could come back…," she stuttered and braced herself on the other girl's arm.

She hoped that this would ease the sharp pain, but then she felt something wet soiling her dress.

Her water broke.

…


	5. War and Peace, Fire and Blood

**Jon**

Jon felt a sharp pain surging down his back as he tried to move. Slowly, he opened his eyes and narrowed his gaze against the bright sun. The smell of sweat and blood lingered in his mouth and nose as he tried to recall what transpired.

His memories were slightly blurred, but he recalled that a horde of Dothraki ambushed their camp.

"Jon," Tito's weary voice made him angle his head to look at his friend. "The Great Shepard be blessed…you are finally awake. I feared the worst."

Jon noticed that he was placed on the ground, a dusty cloak draped over his body.

"I…," Jon began and tried to sit up, but a sting of pain washing over his shoulder made him grit his teeth."What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Tito knelt down next to him and helped in a sitting position. "A small host of Dothraki ambushed and killed hundreds of our men. I lost you during in the chaos and tried to find you. Marli saw you kill the Khal and shortly after the Dothraki horde dispersed. You are truly a lucky bastard. How is it possible that his Bloodriders didn't kill you?"

Jon felt his head hurt from all this new information, but the fact that this warrior was a Khal stunned him.

"This man was a Khal?" Jon asked looked around. Their camp, consisting of several hundred men camped near the river, the dark woods of Qohor looming in the west. They must have crossed the river _Darkwash_. Jon recognized the landscape. "I see…those men were his Bloodriders. To answer your question…I think they mistook me for a dead man."

Tito howled with laughter and patted his knees.

"You are truly a lucky bastard, friend!"

Even now Jon winced when he heard the word bastard, though Tito certainly didn't mean it as an insult.

Jon sighed deeply.

"I am just happy to be alive," Jon replied and sighed deeply. "How long was I out and how many of our men remain?"

"Three full days," Tito explained and jerked his head towards the handful of tents erected close to a large tree that granted plenty of shadow. "Barely five hundred men remain, most of them _Stormcrows_. We are the lucky ones."

"Busco died," Jon added quietly.

Tito nodded his head, a sad smile curling on his lips.

"I know," he whispered and leaned closer. "But Mero died with him. Even the proud _Stormcrows_ took heavy losses. One of their join-commanders died and the other one is wounded. The acting Commander Daario had us camp here for two days, hoping that his scattered men might find their way here to join us. He told me that he doesn't want to cash in the money without his men."

"Cash in the coin?" Jon asked. "But we were defeated."

"True," Tito agreed. "But the rulers of Qohor paid us to fight the Dothraki Horde…I doubt they expected us to win. Besides, we killed several high-ranking Dothraki warriors and you killed the Khal. It is only regrettable that we weren't able to salvage the body. Well, at least the Dothraki will be occupied for a while."

"How so?" Jon asked. "Why will they be occupied?"

Tito smiled and handed him his waterskin.

"First you drink and then I will explain," his friend said and patted his shoulder. "You sound like broken glass."

Jon nodded his head and drank greedily, the taste of the cool water like heaven on his tongue.

"When a Khal dies the successor is decided by competition. The warriors fight each other until one of them prevails, though it is not always that bloody. It depends on the _khalasar_. But first they will prepare the Khal's body for its departure to the next world. All of this can take weeks."

Jon nodded his head, but decided that he won't feel safe until they were back in Qohor.

"How long will it take us to reach Qhohor?" he asked and handed the waterskin back. "I need to return to Braavos. I promised to return within six moons."

"A week," Tito replied and picked a green fruit from his belongings. "Eat or you will not even make it back to Qohor."

Jon did as he was asked and took a bite rom the fruit. The bitter taste made him wince, but it was enough to water his mouth and to fill his stomach.

All the while Tito continued to recount what transpired in the last three days.

It was past midday when Daario Naharis announced their departure. Jon tried to make himself useful, but Tito commanded him to rest.

It was early evening when they climbed back on their horses.

Sweat was rolling down his cheeks and the movement of the horse didn't help to ease the pain in his shoulder, but he was relieved to return home.

 _Dany will be angry_ , but he was sure. _I will have to ask for her forgiveness._

"You look much better, boy," Daario Naharis remarked as he led his horse next to Jon's. He looked more or less unscathed, a few bruises littering his cheek. "Last time I laid eyes on you I thought you will kiss the earth."

"We Westerosi are hard to kill," Jon replied curtly and earned himself an amused smile.

"And mad," Daario added and stroked his blue beard. "What madness possessed you to attack a Dothraki Khal?"

Jon shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't even know that he was a Khal."

Daario Naharis howled with laughter.

"You are a strange boy," he added after his laughter had died down. "Any other man would have claimed this victory for himself. Not that the rulers of Qohor would believe us without a head, but we were able to salvage several other heads," he added and patted one of the bags fastened on his horse. The pungent smell and the blood seeping through the seam of the bag told him that is where kept the heads. "Mero is dead, but that you will receive your fair share. Daario Naharis always pays his debts, boy."

 _He sounds almost like a Lannister_ , Jon thought and forced a smile over his lips.

"I thank you," he answered and lowered his head. "But as I told you before…the boy is called Jon."

"Jon," Daario repeated and bared his teeth. "A rather plain name. You should choose a bloodier name to spread your reputation. A friend of mine is named _the Widower_ and another one _Bloodfinger_ , but Jon…Jon evokes nothing but boredom."

Jon knew he was just joking, but the sun was burning off his face and his shoulder started ache again. He felt the urge to put an end to this conversation.

"I have no interest to pursue this career further. I took part in the campaign, because I need coin…there is a girl waiting for me at home…a girl I am going to wed."

Daario's eyebrows wandered to the top of his head. He gaped at Jon as if he just proposed to cut off his balls and eat them.

Jon couldn't help but to laugh, despite the lingering pain his shoulder.

"Why this horror?" Jon asked sarcastically. "Does marriage scare a brave man like you?"

"Of course not," Daario snorted. "But even the most beautiful flower loses its fragrance. It is the same with women. There are too many beautiful flowers to choose from. Why settle for one?"

Jon laughed.

"What if I already plucked the most beautiful flower? Why would I have need of others?"

Daario Naharis gave him a dumbfounded look.

"You are twisting my words, boy," he replied and led his horse away.

Jon felt a hint of triumph and slowed down his horse to ride next to Tito.

"Did he mock you?" his friend asked.

"He was polite enough," Jon replied. "I will get my coin. That is all that counts to me."

"That is all that counts," Tito agreed, a strange expression playing on his face.

"Jon…," he began and started to fiddle with the reins of his horse. "I would like to accompany you to Braavos. I always wanted to see one of the Free Cities. Do you mind?"

Jon was surprised by his request, but saw no reason to refuse him. He doubted Dany would mind meeting a fresh face.

"Sure," he replied. "Come along if it pleases you, my friend."

A brilliant smile played on Tito's lips.

"I thank you, my friend."

…

 **Dany**

She dreamed of home.

Again the house with red door appeared before her like a mirage. Everything was as she recalled and through a high window she spotted the lemon tree she had been desperately searching for.

"Little Princess," a soft and gruff voice called out to her. "Come to me, little Princess."

 _Princess._

She received names different names. _Whore. Naerys. Dany._

Yet no one had ever called her Princess.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she beheld the face of her elderly caretaker. His grey beard and crinkled face filled her with a deep longing to rush into his open arms.

"Dragon…," an unfamiliar voice muttered behind her. "Dragon..."

Slowly, she turned around and another door opened before her. She wanted to rush back into the arms of her caretaker, but when she turned around she only found darkness.

If I look back I am lost, she thought and moved through the next door, leading her into a round drum-like room.

Sitting near a popping hearth she found a man, familiar and foreign at once. He was very tall, graced with long silver hair and dark indigo eyes.

The man's black clothing stood out against the red dragon embellished on his doublet.

"The Dragon…," he whispered to the woman perched on a great wooden bed. "The Dragon has three heads…"

She was very beautiful, graced with a heart-shaped face and long brown reaching down to her waist.

Her swollen stomach betrayed her pregnancy, but the smile playing on her lips was sad.

"My child will be the third head?" the young woman asked. "How can you be sure?"

"I saw it," the silver-haired man replied, a smile hushing over his lips. "I saw girl with silver hair and purple eyes. She looked like my Lady mother."

"A girl…," the young woman muttered, her grey eyes alight with wonder. "I always wanted a girl."

"Maybe it will be a boy," the silver-haired man added and rose to his feet. "Sometimes I see a boy…dark-haired and grey-eyed like you. It matters not…boy or girl…the dragon has three days," he added and placed a kiss on the woman's lips.

Instantly, the pair faded away like the morning mist and left her wandering along a narrow corridor. The walls were high, grey and dark as the night.

Only the gilded door looming on the other end of the corridor promised escape.

"Sweet sister," the voice of her dead brother whispered as she put her hand on the handle of the door. "Sweet sister…come to me."

Golden light blinded her as she pushed the door open, though it lasted only for a brief moment.

When she came back to herself she found herself sitting on a soft feather bed, garbed in a pale nightgown.

"Can you see this, sweet sister?" her brother asked. He was graced with a sharp-featured face, framed by silver hair and lilac eyes reminiscent of rose petals.

"A crown," she replied softly. She sounded different. Almost like a child. "It is a crown, brother."

An almost loving smile spread over her brother's pale lips as he held up the precious crown. It was a simple band of gold, set with seven gemstones, glittering in the candlelight like jewels.

"Our Lady mother carried this crown," her brother continued to explain and carefully placed the crown on her head. "She was a gracious Queen to our Lord Father and one day you will be my Queen."

He seemed elated, though his words evoked only confusion inside her.

"Your Queen?" she asked softly.

"Yes, sweet sister," her brother answered and leaned down to kiss her head. "One day I will go home and then I will kill the usurper dog's."

Dany shivered and her brother trembled, a gleam of madness apparent in his lilac eyes.

"I don't like dead men…they smell," her younger self complained, but her brother didn't share her opinion. His fingernails started to dig into her cheek and tore a whimper from her lips.

"You are Princess Daenerys Targryen!" he snapped at her, like a monster from a terrible nightmare. "The blood of the dragon does not weep!"

"Viserys!" she begged." You are hurting me!"

He didn't stop, her cheeks awash with pain, blood trickling down her neck and shoulders as the darkness swallowed her whole.

A moment later she found herself back in her home. The home she and Jon found in Braavos.

Everything was as it should be. The fire in the hearth was cackling and the eggs lay nestled between the swirling flames.

Carefully, she tried to pick the eggs from the flames, but it was no use. The flames were lashing out at her like whips. She coiled away, but the fire blazed, the flames feasting on her dress, hair and skin. She tried to scream, but no sound left her mouth.

 _You are the blood of the dragon!_

 _The blood of the dragon does not weep!_

The flames continued to engulf her as her body was wrecked by pain.

Gritting her teeth, she curled her fingers around her womb. She closed her eyes to block out the pain, but a distant voice snapped her out of her nightmares.

"Dany," Mara's voice, rang soft in her ears. Something cool and wet touched her brow as she turned her head to look at Mara. "You are finally awake."

Mara looked exhausted, her red hair dishevelled and her eyes red-rimmed.

Dany recalled the visions, but what happened before was nothing more than a blurred memory.

She only recalled collapsing from the pain.

"How long was I gone?" she asked, her voice strained and distant to her ears. "Where is my child?"

"A boy," Hadi said and moved to her bedside, carrying a whimpering bundle. "It is a boy."

"Give him to me!" she demanded anxiously and stretched out her arms. It took all her effort, fatigue making her sleepy and feverish.

Her son was a tiny babe, graced with silver hair. She expected purple eyes or grey eyes, but then she recalled that all babes have blue eyes after birth.

 _It will change over time._

He whimpered a little as she held him close, tears trailing down her cheeks.

"He is a bit small," Mara added softly, her voice heavy with worry.

"He is a dragon," it escaped her involuntarily. The pain was still there, burning inside her womb, something warm soiling her thighs. "He will grow strong."

Mella gave her a confused look and touched her brow.

"Of course," Mara replied and brushed away the bedding. "It is not your boy I am worrying about…your bleeding has yet to stop. And you are burning with fever."

Fear gripped her heart as she saw the blood.

Dany shook her head.

She can't die. Not after she realized the truth.

She is Daenerys Targaryen. Her brother was Viserys Targaryen and the Prince from Jon's letters was her other brother. The brother she only knew from Viserys' stories. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

 _Jon was my nephew and I sent him to his death._

 _I sent my brother's son to his death._

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she recalled Rhaegar's words.

 _The dragon has three heads._

 _Three heads, three eggs._

"Mara," she said and angled her head to look at the other girl. "Did you get Jon's box? I recall asking you to take it with you"

Mara smiled and brushed her hand through Dany's wet hair.

"Aye, I brought Jon's box," Mara replied and pointed at the box placed next to her bed. "Don't fret. Nobody will be able to steal your jewels. This is the Tempel of Light. We are safe here."

"The Tempel of Light," she repeated and placed her boy back in Hadi's arms. Slowly, she pulled her feet out of the bed and leaned down to open the box.

Carefully, she smoothed her hand over the rough surface of the eggs. They were hot as a brazier, something deep inside them pulsing with life.

"Fire," she muttered to herself as if in prayer. "I need fire. The hottest fire you can find."

"Dany…," Mara muttered, worry written all over her face. "Your fever is speaking…"

"I am not mad!" she snapped back, surprised by her temper. "Please…these are not jewels….these are dragon eggs…I need a fire…it has to be now or never."

"Dany," Mara began, but Hadi cut in.

"We built a pyre for the dead…," the younger girl explained, but Mara interrupted, anger visible on her face.

"Stop encouraging her in this nonsense, sister," Mara said and jerked her head at Dany. "Her fever is speaking."

"I don't think so," Hadi replied determinedly and touched her amulet wrought in a red flame. "The God of Light touched her. "

"Fuck your God of Light!" Mara shouted, but lowered her voice when Dany's babe started to cry. "Why did your God of Light not save our mother when he is so almighty and all-knowing?"

Dany heard enough and rose back to her trembling feet.

"Aemon," she said and kissed the babe's head. "Call him Aemon…for the Dragonknight."

Jon told her that he wanted to be like him. A knight…honest and true. Jon was no knight, but he did what knights are supposed to do. He protected her when he could have left her rotting in the North.

Then she turned back to Hadi.

"Will you show me the way and help my carry the box?"

"Of course," Hadi explained and touched her arm."I will show you the way."

"Will you come with us?" Dany asked Mara.

Mara shook her head.

"I will not be part of this madness," Mara replied stubbornly. "I will take care of your boy while you are gone."

Dany swallowed hard and nodded her head in understanding.

Hadi had to steady her as they made their way to the great sanctuary. There she found a large wooden pyre, the corpses wrapped in white cloth. Dany had visited the Temple of Light a dozen of times and often enough the dead were given to the flames to receive the blessings of the God of Light.

 _Death by fire is the cleanest death._

As they climbed up the steps leading to the pyre, they were accompanied by the soft song of the acolytes.

"I heard of such eggs," Hadi said as they came to stand before the pyre. "The dragonlords of old possessed such eggs."

"Aye," Dany replied softly. "I am of their blood…the blood of the dragon."

Her feet felt wobbly as she approached the pyre. Yet she knew what to do. She felt it.

 _The dragon has three heads._

"Could you light the pyre?"

Haid nodded her head and touched her torch in the cup of fire.

The flames danced and the singers continued with their song. As if stirred by their song the flames leapt higher and higher.

Dany swallowed hard and cradled the box in her arms as she stepped in the flames.

Fresh blood trickled down her thighs, tainting her nightgown in crimson blood.

Sweat was rolling down her cheeks as the flames touched her naked skin. The fire whispered and cracked, touching her feet and upper body. The touch of the flames was hot like a brazier, but there was no pain. It felt like a warm embrace. A mother's touch.

The world around her disappeared, the blazing flames painting her surroundings in a golden glimmer.

She closed her eyes, but when she opened them she was still there.

This was real. She should be ash, but her heart was still beating.

Like a storm the flames whirled around her, images forming before her very eyes.

She saw her brother Rhaegar slain by a mighty warrior. Heard a woman's cry as a babe was cut from her womb. Heard Viserys' whimpers as his face caught fire and turned red like a terrible wound. Saw an old dragon sitting on a wall of ice, bloody tears rolling down her cheeks as he wept for his lost family…

The sound of cracking of stone chased away the visions, white flames swallowing her up. Then everything faded into darkness, sweet and pleasant as if she was cast back in her mother's womb.

She woke naked and covered in ash. Her eyes burned from the smoke, but she was still alive and breathing.

She felt the small creature's touch on her naked skin, its hot scales digging into it as it crawled up her arm.

Dany started in wonder at the creature. It was a dragon, graced with black wings and red scales. A second dragon, golden and bluish, clung to her thighs. The third one, green and golden, hopped on her shoulder and curled his head in her neck.

Weak like a newborn babe she rose to her feet and the dragons started to shriek, giving their greeting to the world.

…

 **Robb**

Robb tried to straighten himself as he observed the approaching column of riders, the joined banners of House Lannister and Baratheon fluttering in the soft breeze.

King Joffrey is a bastard, so much he knew after Stannis Baratheon revealed the truth to the realm. It confirmed his mother's suspicions that Bran's fall was more than a mere accident.

 _Maybe he saw the Queen and the Kingslayer_ , his mother had offered as a possible explanation.

The truth stirred fresh rage inside him.

Robb called the banners after his father's imprisonment and won one victory after another. And now he was forced to come here to crawl in the dirt before The Lannisters.

 _You are doing this for your Lord father and the girls_ , his mother had reminded him upon his departure from Riverrun. _There is no dishonour in kneeling if it saves the life our loved ones. If King Torrhen was able to do it, you can do it as well._

Yet Torrhen Stark bent the knee to a dragon and not to a bastard, who dared to imprison his Lord father.

He wanted to do nothing more than to cast Tywin Lannister's offer in the roaring flames, but then his Lord Father would suffer a traitor's death.

"It is the Imp," the Greatjon grumbled as he spotted Tyrion Lannister perched on his horse, leading the column of riders. "Gods, these Lannisters know no shame."

"Better than Joffrey," Robb muttered to himself and led his horse closer, his gaze searching for his little sister Arya.

"Robb!" he heard Arya's anxious voice rolling over the meadow spreading before him. "Robb!"

His heart skipped a beat as he saw her winking back at him. She sat perched on a palfrey horse, her brown hair untidy as ever.

"Lord Stark," Tyrion Lannister interrupted his moment of happiness. "I understand that you are anxious to reunite with your sister, but there are formalities that demand your attention."

"Indeed, let us proceed. As stated in my last raven…I accept your Lord Father's peace offer and the following conditions: My sister Arya will be exchanged for your brother Ser Jaime Lannister while my sister Sansa remains betrothed to King Joffrey. My Lord Father will be allowed to join the Night's Watch and remain unharmed. I myself will bend the knee and keep out of the brewing war between Stannis Baratheon and your family," he forced the words over his lips. "Do I have to crawl down from my horse to bend the knee?"

Surprisingly, the dwarf remained polite as ever.

"Of course not," Tyrion Lannister assured him. "But there is no need for such humiliating gestures. My Lord Father understands that you are a honourable man who keeps his word."

"Aye," Robb replied and jerked his head at the Greatjon. "Bring Ser Jaime."

Moments later the Kingslayer was dragged forward, walking after Lord Karstark's horse. The Kingslayer was garbed in simple clothing, his blond hair and beard freshly shaved. Robb showed him no courtesy, for he feared that Lord Karstark would hold it against him.

A subtle smile showed on Lord Tyrion's face as his brother's bonds were cut. The Kingslayer returned his brother's smile, but when Robb met his gaze he only saw rage.

"Give my brother a proper horse and cloak," Tyrion Lannister declared and turned to look at Arya."You may now join your brother, Lady Arya."

Arya didn't hesitate and urged her horse forward. His men parted, allowing her to find a protective shelter.

"Sister!" Robb exclaimed and opened his arms to receive her. It took barely a few seconds before she hopped into his arms. "It is good to have you back."

"Robb," she said and nuzzled his neck. "Will you take me home?"

Her sad voice filled him with a burning rage. It took all his strength to keep his composure. _For father._

"I am thankful for your cooperation," Tyrion Lannister said and led his horse closer. "But before I take my leave…I wanted to tell you…I didn't harm your brother."

"I know," Robb replied coldly, holding Arya close to his chest. "My Lady mother informed me about the result of the trial. The gods decided in your favour. I accept that. Good luck with your war, my lord."

"I thank you," the dwarf quipped back and graced him with an amused smile. "Give my greetings to your Lady mother and your bride."

"I will," Robb replied coldly, though he hand no intention to fulfil the dwarf's wish. "And now I will take my leave."

They didn't make it back to Riverrun before nightfall and camped on a small clearing, not far from the road, leading back to Riverrun.

Arya refused to leave his side and made use of every moment to inform him about her trials.

Robb listened attentively, but it took all his strength to keep his composure.

"And Sansa," he said carefully. "How is she holding up?"

Arya paled and grew very silent, before she finally answered.

"She still thinks Joffrey is in love with her," she said, her voice laced with bitterness. "I told her how stupid that sounds, but she didn't listen to me. She called me an unruly child."

Robb nodded his head in understanding and smoothed Arya's hair.

"Arya," he said and sighed deeply. "Please don't speak like that in front of our Lady mother. She frets about Sansa."

"Of course," Arya replied and leaned in his touch. "I won't tell her. I promise."

She looked distraught as if something was weighing on her mind.

"What is wrong?" Robb prodded gently and pulled his hand away. "Is there something you want to say?"

She nodded her head, her eyes glossy and sad.

"Mother frets about Sansa," she said and averted her gaze. "Did she fret about me?"

Robb was taken back by her question.

"Of course she did," Robb assured her. "She is most anxious to see you."

A ghost of a smile tugged on Arya's lips and she hugged him again.

"Thank you for bringing me home, brother."

Instantly, all his feelings of rage and humiliation were blown away.

"Robb!" Arya exclaimed and pointed at the sky. "Look!"

Robb lifted his head and gasped.

A red star was piercing the sky, leaving a bloody wound in its wake.

"What could it mean, brother?" Arya asked, her voice filled with excitement and wonder.

Robb couldn't speak, for he knew what it meant.

The realm will bleed again.

…


	6. Departures

**Jon**

Jon was glad to change the hot climate of Qohor to the pleasant climate of Braavos. When he first came to Braavos he hated the constant rain and fog, but now he felt savoured the cool breeze coming from the sea. The campaign to Qohor had taken him much longer than anticipated and he hoped that Dany will not be too angry with him.

Braavos was still the same busy place, but Tito admired everything with awe and wonder. His friend's mouth stood open as he saw the numerous canals snaking their way through the city. The inhabitants intrigued Tito even more and once he mistook one of the fabulously dressed Braavosi men for a whore.

Arriving at _Ragman's Port_ Tito wrinkled his nose.

"What is this smell?" his friend asked as they passed a peddler selling salted herring to a Seawife perched in one of her beautifully-decorated ships. The woman was a great beauty, graced with black hair and jade eyes.

Jon felt almost embarrassed by the way Tito stared at her. He looked as if he had never seen a woman before.

"Don't stare!" he chided his friend and pulled on his arm, leading his friend along the cobbled street toward Mella's home. It was not hard to miss the building. Not long ago Jon painted one of the doors in a bright crimson colour.

"Why?" Tito asked. "Where I come from women are flattered if you stare at them."

"This woman is no common woman," he explained. "She is a Seawife and belongs to the Sealord of Braavos. They cost a fortune."

Tito laughed and patted Jon's shoulder.

"Are you speaking out of experience, friend?" Tito asked, though Jon told him in great detail about Dany. "Is that the reason you joined the Second Sons? Did one of these Seawives take away your coin?"

"Believe me…I have no need of Seawives," he answered as they made their way up the steps leading to the entrance. Suddenly, Jon realized that it was barely midday. He doubted that Dany would be home at this time of the day.

Thus he wheeled around and pulled Tito up another staircase, decorated with several painted pots and flowers.

Jon didn't know why, but it felt as if something was amiss. Normally, Shala would come to greet him or Mella would dry the clothing on the roof. Yet neither Shala nor Mella could be seen.

Brushing those fearful thoughts away he knocked at the door. A moment passed, before the door finally opened. It was Mara, Mella's oldest daughter.

Instead of a smile he received a look of utter shock.

First the young woman gasped, then she clapped her hands together.

"Gods you frightened me," she whispered and squeezed his arm. Then she smiled. "We thought you dead."

Jon was stunned.

"What?" he asked, trying to hide his discomfort. "Why would you think that? Where is Dany?"

"She is not here…," Mara replied vaguely, her eyes coming to rest on Tito, who was trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, though that was harder than expected. Graced with copper skin and garbed in his dark worn-out leather armour he stood out among the brightly-dressed Braavosi."Don't you want to introduce your companion?"

"Oh, yes. Forgive my negligence," Jon apologized quickly. "This is Tito…he hails from Lhazar. He is a friend."

"Well met," Mara replied and brushed her braid of red hair over her shoulder. Then she stepped aside as if to indicate for them to enter. "Come inside…I will explain what happened."

Jon frowned and stepped inside. Tito grinned at her, but his smile earned him no warm reply. Mara was always cold towards strangers, especially men.

She led them along a narrow corridor leading to the kitchen, where dough was placed on the wooden table. Jon looked around, searching Shala, who was usually responsible for this chore. She often brought them fresh bread, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" Mara asked him and then Tito."Tea…Do you know tea?"

Tito continued to grin.

"I like tea," Tito answered and Jon was surprised that the Sheepmen know tea, but then he hardly knew anything about them. Tito gave him only bits and pieces of information.

"Very well," she replied and started to heat the water while she explained Dany's absence. "As I told you…we thought you dead, because my Father heard about the defeat of the Second Sons. Many things happened during your absence. My mother and sister are dead."

Jon felt as if someone hit him and he had to balance himself on the table.

"How did it happen?" he asked and winced when he heard how raw his voice sounded. "And where is Dany? Please tell me!"

"Don't fret…Dany is well considering the circumstances," Mara assured him and handed the cup to Tito, who eyed the substance curiously and wrinkled his brows in confusion.

"It is hot," he stated matter-of-faculty.

"Of course it is hot," Mara answered and ruffled her hand through her loose strands of red hair. "It is tea…tea is hot."

"I know tea, but we don't drink it cooked," Tito explained and earned himself a look of disbelief from Mara.

"Fuck the tea!" Jon interrupted their silly conversation. "Where is Dany?

Mara gave him a surprised look and shook her head in understanding.

"She is at the Temple of Light," she finally gave him the piece of information he was longing for. "She is well, though I don't trust these priests."

"Temple of Light," he muttered and tried to make sense of Mara's words. "Why did she go there and where is Ghost? Did she take him to the Temple of Light?" And you have yet to answer my first question…What happened to your mother and sister?"

"Brutes entered our home and killed them…Dany helped me, though she was heavy with child. I brought her to the Temple of Light for protection and that is where she is now…with your child."

Jon stared at her with utter disbelief.

Tito laughed and patted his shoulder.

"Congratulations, my friend!"

Jon didn't even register Tito's words and continued to stare at Mara like a witless fool.

Finally, recognition showed on her face.

"So she didn't tell you?" the young woman asked, her brows wandering to the top of her head. "No wonder you are so surprised."

No, she didn't tell him and he understood why. He wanted to smack himself.

 _I am a fool._ _I shouldn't have harped on about the bastard thing again and again. She was probably afraid that I would be angry with her._

"Why didn't she return here?" he asked, still unable to understand why she chose to stay at the Temple of Light. "Was she afraid?"

Mara shook her head and took a sip from her cup.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth," she replied, a smile curling on her lips. "You have to see it with your own eyes to believe it."

Jon didn't know what to make of her words, but was prepared to accept this answer.

"Can you at least show me the way to the Temple of Light?"

Mara nodded her head.

They left an hour later after Tito had emptied his cup of tea and Mara had finished kneading the dough. Jon was barely able to sit still, but he had the feeling that Mara took pleasure in torturing him. It felt as if she was punishing him for his long absence. At least that is what he deduced from her sharp remarks about his adventure to Qohor.

It was late evening when they arrived at the _Isle of the Gods_. The streets proved busy at this time of the day and it was hard to move through the crowd of people.

He recognized the Temple of Light. Both the walls made of red-coloured bricks and the priests garbed in their silken red robes stuck in his memory.

Jon doubted the priests would have allowed him and Tito to pass if they hadn't brought Mara with them, who demanded to see her younger sister Hadi.

The younger girl appeared moments later, her eyes wide in wonder as she saw him standing there, alive and mostly unharmed.

"R'hllor be blessed!" Hadi whispered and touched her amulet. Then she smiled and lowered her head in reverence. "We thought you dead and gone…another miracle."

"Maybe," Mara replied sourly. "Where is Dany? Your priests spent enough time swarming around her."

Hadi frowned, anger glinting in her blue eyes. "Dany is a honoured guest."

"Honoured prisoner would be the better term," Mara replied and jerked her head at Jon."Dany told me the eggs belonged to him. I think he has every right to see what they brought forth."

"What Dany brought forth," Hadi corrected her sister and shifted her attention back to Jon."But I am sure it will ease her heart to see you. Please follow after me."

Halls and corridors followed, lightened by numerous torches, the flames shining like stars on the black surface of the walls.

The acolytes eyed them with great curiosity. One of the higher-ranking Priestesses stopped them and only allowed them to pass after Hadi had explained their purpose.

At last Hadi opened a door, which led to a large curling corridor ending in a wooden staircase. Upstairs they found sleeping compartments that were solely occupied by women.

Not that Jon cared. He only wanted to see Dany, to hold his child and to apologize for his delay.

"Here," Hadi said and pointed at a wooden door, but gave both Mara and Tito a sharp look. "I think they deserve some privacy."

Jon didn't recognize Dany when he laid eyes on her. Her silver hair was no longer than the length of his little finger and garbed in red robes she looked indistinguishable from the other acolytes. Yet her change in appearance was not the most astounding thing, though Jon finally understood Mara's strange remarks.

The creatures swarming around Dany shouldn't exist. The last dragons perished more than hundreds years ago, but here they were: dragons reborn from his father's eggs.

One dragon was as black as the night, his scales red like crimson. Another one was blue like the summer sea, his scales shimmering with a golden glimmer. The last creature sported a rich green colour flecked with gold on his neck and back.

Yet even the sight of the dragons was nothing compared to the whimpering bundle sucking from her bared breast. He saw only a thatch of silver hair, but he felt as if his heart wanted to jump out his chest.

He wanted to speak, but it felt as if he lost the ability to speak.

"Dany…," he stuttered, his voice strained and distant to his ears. When she didn't react he raised his voice. "Dany…"

Dany froze and lifted her head, her purple eyes wet with tears.

She didn't answer for a long time, her body trembling as she continued to rock their babe in her arms.

"They told me the Second Sons were defeated," she said, her voice barely about a whisper. "I didn't think…" she trailed off, her voice drowned out by the whimpering child.

"I was lucky," he replied, lacking a better answer. Then he swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the black dragon, who had hopped on her shoulder." How did it happen? How did they hatch?"

A small smile washed her sadness away.

"I don't know," she replied weakly. "I don't know how why it happened…I only know that I stepped into a burning pyre and emerged unharmed."

Jon was stunned to silence. For the blink of a moment he thought she was joking, but on her face he found no hint of amusement. It would also explain her short hair, but it was still hard to believe.

"Do you want to hold your son?" she asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them. She regarded him with wide eyes as if she was afraid of his reaction.

"Of course," he replied in a trembling voice, feeling the urge to reassure her. He had always feared to father children, not wanting to condemn them to the life of a bastard. And yet he felt only joy."What name did you choose?"

Relief was palpable on her features as she lifted the child into his outstretched hands. For the blink of a moment he wanted to tell her to keep the child, fearing to drop him. It was a silly notion. He held all his younger siblings when they were babes. Yet he couldn't help it.

"You fought Dothraki and yet you pause to hold your child," she remarked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "His name is Aemon."

"Aemon," he repeated the name of his son. "A Targaryen name."

"You are of Targaryen blood," she replied firmly and smoothed her hand over the child's head. "And you told me that you wanted to be like Aemon the Dragonknight. Besides, I don't know many Stark names."

"No," he assured her and eyed the child once more. He looked like most babes. Pink-faced and blue-eyed, his silver hair his only striking feature. "It suits him…he has silver hair like you. Speaking of silver hair…Could it be that you have Valyrian blood? Maybe one of your ancestors descended from the Blackfyre line?"

She chuckled as if he made a particularly funny joke.

"Why Blackfyre? Why not Targaryen?"

"My doomed Father was the Last Targaryen," he replied, confused by her sudden change in mood.

"He was not," she replied confidently. "Prince Viserys was smuggled to Essos and so was his younger sister, a mere babe…Daenerys Targaryen."

"Daenerys Targaryen," he repeated the name, all pieces falling into place. "So that is your true name?"

Her smile was as bright as a star.

"It is," she confirmed and stroked the dragon's head. "But I prefer Dany. Daenerys is quite a mouthful, don't you think?"

"I like it," he said and moved closer, her face inches away from his. The dragon's crimson eyes regarded him curiously. Then the dragon hopped from her shoulder and joined his two brothers. "Do I have to call you Princess?"

It was meant as a jape, but her sad smile made him regret his words.

"No," she answered and brushed her hand over his cheek. Then she leaned closer and placed a kiss on his lips. "Nobody can know. The dragons are small and fragile. We shouldn't risk their safety. We need to leave Braavos."

"Aye," Jon agreed. "And I have been wondering…Where is Ghost?"

"Outside," she told him quietly, a hint of guilt showing on her face. "The other girls are afraid of him, but I made him a nice sleeping place in the outer garden," she continued to explain and led him to a door hidden beneath a colourful drape. She pulled the drape aside and pulled down the handle, leading him out into a round courtyard, littered with trees and vines.

Moments later Ghost's white-furred head appeared behind one of the long smooth pillars supporting the roof of the terrace. Ghost's eyes met his and Jon hoisted Aemon back in Dany's arms.

His wolf made no sound as he trailed to his side and licked his hand.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, though it was silly to expect answer from an animal, no matter how clever.

"He has grown lazy," Dany joked. "Another reason to leave Braavos."

"Aye," he agreed and brushed his hand through Ghost's soft fur, an idea blooming in his mind. "Dany…Would you care to meet a friend of mine?"

"A friend," she repeated, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "A friend of yours is a friend of mine. Of course I want to meet him."

…

 **Arya**

Riverrun's godswood was barely able to harbour all the guests paying witness to her brother's wedding to Lady Roslin Frey.

Lady Roslin was the kind of girl that makes men go mad, graced with a pretty face and soft brown hair reaching to her waist. Her dress was exquisite, made of a pale white seam, so shiny Arya thought it flowing water. Her hair held little decoration, only a few white daisies littering the braids keeping her hair out of her face.

Sansa would have sighed and admired the beauty of it all, but Arya winced at the scratchy feeling of her dress. It was made of grey pale lace and some sort of silken collar that turned her skin red. Her Lady mother spent all evening braiding her unruly hair.

Her Lady Mother even called her pretty and for a brief moment she was very happy. Jeyne Poole used to call her Arya Horseface, though next to Walder Frey's weasel-faced daughters everyone would look pretty. How someone like Walder Frey was able to father a beauty like Lady Roslin was a mystery to her.

Arya was happy for her brother, for he seemed to like the girl he is going to marry, but the there was something that stirred her bitterness. The presence of her supposed betrothed, a plump Frey boy graced with freckles and a shock of red hair.

 _Elmar Frey._

 _Elmar_ , she repeated the name to herself and gave him a sideway glance. He was standing among his many brothers, picking his nose. _Elmar the Nosepicker, my future husband. Never. I rather marry Theon Greyjoy._

She brushed those bothersome thoughts away and shifted her attention back to the pair..

The bride was led by one of her elder brothers, forced to stand in for Walder Freys' absence. Robb was relieved when the grim old lord announced his absence, but the man leading the bride looked like all the other Freys; weasel-faced and grim.

Robb walked at his Lady mother's side, for their Lord father was gone, banished to the Wall. Robb was dressed in grey and white, Greywind forced to observe the ceremony from afar.

"Who comes before the gods this night?" her Lady mother's soft-spoken voice broke the silence that had settled over the crowd.

"Lady Roslin of House Frey comes here to wed…a woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods," Stevron Frey answered quietly, no smile showing on his lips. "Who comes to claim her?"

"Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell," her brother replied clearly. "Who gives her?"

"Stevron Frey, heir to the Twins," the old man replied and placed Lady Roslin's hand into Robb's. Then he looked down at Lady Roslin."Do you take this man?"

"I take this man," Lady Roslin whispered her reply. Then Robb pulled her cloak from her shoulders and replaced it with his own, sewn out of warm pelt and embellished with a grey direwolf.

"You may now kneel and receive the blessing of the gods," Her Lady Mother added and hand in hand her brother and his bride knelt down before the tree. A moment of silence followed and then the bride and groom kissed.

The ending of the marriage ceremony was accompanied by clapping and soon the guests made their way back to the Great Hall. Her Lady Mother was seated on her left side and Elmar the Nosepicker was seated on her right side, gulping down a piece of chicken.

Arya tried her best to ignore him, but this proved difficult when he was making these annoying noises. She had the urge to kick him, but that would displease her Lady Mother and she promised to behave.

Thus she endured it and focused on her food.

Now and then Elmar the Nosepicker mumbled an incoherent sentence and Arya continued to ignore him.

Yet then the minstrels were called forward and the dancing began.

At once the guests rose to their feet and started to crowd the dance floor. Robb was no great dancer, but he tried his best, probably to please his bride.

Several songs followed, before her mumbling betrothed asked her to dance with him. She only agreed, because she promised to behave. Thus she danced with him, fearing for the pretty slippers her Lady Mother gifted her as the clumsy boy continued to stumble over her toes.

"Can't you be more careful, stupid!" she chided him quietly and at last she was freed from her obligation. Limping she returned to her seat, a warm smile playing on her Lady Mother's lips.

She leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you for behaving," she whispered in her ear, her warm breath tickling her cheek. "I know how hard it is for you."

 _You know not_ , she wanted to say, but then she recalled how happy her Lady Mother was when she returned. She had wept for hours, nearly choking Arya to death until Robb separated them. _You had our Lord Father…not Elmar the Nosepicker._

"I am fine," she assured her and decided to eat her cake.

The rest of the night passed quietly until a particularly drunken Lord called for the bedding.

Happily, the drunken horde of men lifted Lady Roslin in the air and carried her out of the room while the pretty ladies, most of them Roslin's relatives, pulled a helpless Robb out of the Great Hall.

It was no surprise to her that her Lady Mother sent her to bed, though she asked to join the other ladies. She always wanted to know why people make such a fuss about the bedding.

Even late into the night she heard the sounds of the celebrating guests. Somewhere between midnight and sunrise she woke, the taste of blood lingering in her mouth.

That night she dreamed she was a wolf, running freely through the woods.

Sadness filled her as she pulled on her cloak and slipped out of her chamber. She had spent the last weeks exploring the castle and knew how to avoid the guards. Lucky for her, the drawbridge was lowered and it was not hard to mix among the small folk to make her way out of the castle. Her Lady Mother wouldn't approve, but Arya longed for the smell of grass.

 _Only an hour of freedom_ , she thought and hopped through the green meadow, daisies and daffodils lining the muddy trail leading to a small wooden area not far from the castle.

She didn't know what caused it, but she started to tremble. Someone was there, watching her from the distance.

Slowly, she turned around and gasped.

Familiar golden eyes stared back at her, though by now her beloved wolf had grown into a massive beast like Greywind.

"Nymeria!" she shouted and bridged the distance, burying her tear-stricken face in Nymeria's tousled fur, so much like her own hair. "You came back!"

…

 **Daenerys**

"You didn't lie when you said that your woman is beautiful," Tito remarked and dipped the bread in his bowl of soup.

Dany smiled and continued to rock Aemon. He was a quiet child, but the presence of so many people made him fuss. Only the rocking movement of her arms helped to calm him.

"There is no need for flattery," she replied warmly, her gaze flickering back to Jon."But I thank you for helping Jon. He told me that you took care of him while he was wounded."

"I did," Tito replied and broke apart the rest of the bread. "But I am sure he would have done the same for me. He impaled a Dothraki Khal for our dead friend Busco."

Dany gasped in surprise and gave Jon a curious glance.

"You killed a Khal?"

Jon blushed in embarrassment and put his empty bowl away."I didn't know that he was a Khal. Tito is just trying to flatter me."

"You are far too humble," Tito replied and bared his teeth. Then he put his empty bowl away and gave Mara a curious glance. She had been silent throughout the whole exchange, but now she decided to speak, her blue eyes coming to rest on Dany or better said on the black-winged dragon perched on her shoulder.

"I know I have no right to ask this question," Mara said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What will you do now?"

Dany nodded her head in understanding.

"We can't stay here…the dragons can't stay here," she explained. "Though I fear what the priests will do if I try to leave."

"You don't have to worry about that," Mara replied determinedly."Hadi will help you. Getting away shouldn't be much of a problem, but one question remains: Where will you go?"

"I have already thought about that," Jon declared and brushed his hand over Ghost's head. Then he turned to look at Tito."Lhazar is a wide land…big enough for growing dragons. Tito is prepared to offer us asylum."

Dany felt a gust of sympathy washing over her.

"And this is not too great of a burden for your people?"

"No, on the contrary," Tito replied and gave her knowing smile. "My Mother is going to love the dragons."

"And we won't have to depend on them," Jon added, a seldom smile curling on his lips as he pulled a clinking bag of coin from his vest. "All we need is your people's friendship."

"The fact that you fought Dothraki should win them over quick enough," Tito explained and tightened his cloak around his shoulders. The night was cold and a breeze was coming through the open door leading out to the garden. Outside she heard the whispering of the priests, ringing softly in her ears like a lullaby. They were generous to her, but she didn't trust them.

"Whatever you do," Mara whispered softly. "You should leave as soon as possible. The longer you stay the harder it will be to get away."

"True," Dany agreed with a heavy voice. "Will you come with us?"

Sadness was showing on Mara's face as she shrugged her shoulders.

"My father has need of my company," she explained. "Do you understand?"

"I understand," Dany replied, though she felt disappointed. Another friendly face would have made the long travel more pleasant. "And I am going to miss you."

…


	7. Uncovered Truths

**Jon**

They had travelled the whole day before they decided to camp near a small brook snaking its way through the hinterlands of Braavos. It had rained all evening, the hills and valleys covered in white mist.

Tito didn't approve of his suggestion, but Jon's shoulder was starting to ache and Dany and Aemon were in dire need of rest.

By dusk Jon had fed the horses and Tito had built a campfire near a tree, which sported a thick tree crown to protect them from the rain.

"They are rather wild," Jon remarked as he observed Dany feeding the dragons with the meat she had roasted over the campfire. The green and the black dragon were hissing and snarling at each other like snakes.

What stunned him more was his son. Aemon seemed unbothered by the commotion and continued to sleep on Dany's folded cloak placed next to her and Ghost.

"They always behave like that when I am feeding them," Dany assured him and threw a piece of meat to the blue dragon, who observed his brothers from the sidelines. Only the piece of meat managed to lure him from his comfortable place. "The green one and the black one are wild, but the blue one is well-behaved."

"They lack names," Jon stated after the blue dragon had lifted his head to fix him with his golden eyes.

It was not the first time.

 _Maybe he is confused by my Stark blood_ , Jon mused and stretched out his hand. In the last moment, he pulled his hand back, deciding that he didn't want to disturb the feeding ritual.

"It is not easy to decide on a proper name. Besides, the eggs belonged to you…you should have a say," Dany explained and smiled back at him.

"I heard the dragonlords of old rode such creatures to battle," Tito added, who had been listening to their conversation from the sidelines."My mother said they were able to control them through their special blood."

Dany looked hesitant, but Jon decided to give Tito the truth.

"Dany has dragon blood through her father and mother," Jon explained. "And I through my father."

Tito's eyes widened in fascination, his gaze flickering from Dany to Jon.

"Well, that explains a lot," his friend said, an amused smile playing on his lip as he pointed at the blue dragon. "And I think I found your dragon. This one is looking at you like a lovesick puppy."

"True," Dany agreed enthusiastically and graced Jon with an encouraging smile. "You should try feeding him. Give him time and he will become attached to you," she continued to explain and held up the stick with the roasted meat.

Jon nodded his head in understanding and pulled a piece of meat from the stick.

Hesitatingly, he moved closer to the blue dragon, who continued to stare back at him in silence.

Ever slowly, he knelt down before the creature and held the piece of meat above the dragon's head. Unlike his wild brothers the blue dragon waited until Jon had dropped the piece of meat on the ground before devouring it completely. Then, as if spurred on by Jon's actions the dragon propelled himself in the air and landed on Jon's arm.

Jon was stunned by the dragon's agility and Dany clapped her hands in appreciation.

"Good work!" she praised the blue dragon, who continued to crawl up Jon's shoulder, curling his spiky tail around his arm. Grinning, Dany handed Jon another piece of meat. "Now you have to reward him. That way he will learn to obey your commands."

Jon couldn't help but to smile. It seems training dragons was not much different than training direwolves.

"Your reward," he told the dragon and dropped the piece of meat on the ground. Quick as ever the dragon devoured it.

"Now touch his back," Dany instructed gently. "They like that, especially after a hearty meal."

 _Maybe I was wrong to compare them to direwolves? They are almost like babies._

Jon nodded his head in understanding and touched the dragon's scaled back. He couldn't help but to gasp when he felt the sheer warmth radiating from the dragon's skin. It felt like a flickering flame tickling his skin. And as Dany promised…the dragon seemed to appreciate his gesture and shrieked happily, before rubbing his head against Jon's hand.

"As I said…the dragon is in love," Tito remarked jokingly.

"It seems I have competition," Dany agreed and hoisted Aemon in her arms. He was crying, though Dany fed him not long ago.

She tried to feed him again, but Aemon continued to cry. Dany sighed and rocked him left and right while Jon continued to feed the dragons. As expected, the green one and the black one continued to fight for every piece of meat while the blue lay down beside Jon and curled his tail around himself.

Finally sated, the two wild dragons started to dig a hole in the ground and went to sleep.

By then Dany had calmed Aemon, though he remained fully awake, touching his mother's red robe.

"Dany," he said and cleared his throat. "Let me take care of Aemon for you. You mentioned that you want to get a proper wash in the brook. Now is your chance."

Happiness made her face glow. His offer seemed to please her.

"That would be lovely," she answered and knelt down next to him. Jon held up his arms and she placed Aemon in his arms. "It won't take long," she assured him with a quick smile and placed a kiss on his cheek, before leaving them.

Once she had disappeared out of sight Tito leaned over, showing Jon a piece of cloth. It looked like the ribbon usually wound around Tito's scabbard.

"Babies like it when you do this," Tito explained and dangled the ribbon in front of Aemon's eyes. To Jon's astonishment Aemon started to observe the movement of colourful garment and stretched out his hand to reach for it. His hands were too short, but it filled Jon with a dazzling realization. In a few moons from now this babe will crawl and run around. Suddenly, his mind was awash with hopes and dreams for the future. He imagined showing how to use a sword and other useful things. Maybe one day they will be able to return to Winterfell and then Jon could introduce him to Arya and Robb's children. They could grow up like brothers…

"Jon," Tito snapped him out of his reverie. "About time I say."

Jon was confused and lifted his head to meet Tito's gaze.

"What do you mean?"

"You finally smiled," his friends pointed out. "A smart little boy like this one deserves a smile."

Shame washed over him. It was true, but he couldn't help but to nurse a hint of resentment against Dany. He had his suspicions why she didn't tell him the truth about her pregnancy, but then she even avoided speaking about Mella and Shala's deaths.

So far Jon had allowed it to rest. Yet deep inside he wanted to know the reason. _Did she think he would leave her or was she only afraid he would be angry with her?_

 _I need to know_ , he knew and made a determination to speak with her. _Later when we are alone._

Jon trusted and liked Tito, but he didn't want to speak about such personal matters in front of him.

"Aye," Jon agreed and brushed his hand over Aemon's head. His silver hair was soft like silk. The sheer touch warmed him from the inside out. "He is a smart boy," he added softly and picked the ribbon from Tito's hand. It was beautiful to behold and made from an expensive silken cloth.

"A woman?" Jon asked curiously.

Tito laughed and shook his head.

"No, it belongs to my older sister," he explained proudly. "She made me promise to bring it back."

"Clever of her," Jon complimented and thought of Arya. He wondered if Arya skewered Prince Joffrey with her little sword like she promised him during their last conversation. Jon met the Prince only briefly, but even Theon Greyjoy thought him a prideful little shit.

"Well, I will be pleased to meet your sister and your Mother," Jon added and handed him the ribbon.

"And my other siblings," Tito added and bared his teeth.

"Of course," Jon confirmed."How many siblings do you have?"

Tito wrinkled his brows and pondered his question for a moment.

"Twenty I think," he answered and Jon stared at him in disbelief. "I stopped counting."

"Your poor mother," was all that Jon managed to say in return.

"Not all of them are my full-blooded siblings. My mother was my father's head wife. He had two younger women in later years."

"That seems to surprise you," Tito remarked and gave him a knowing smile. "I heard the dragonlords of old used to take more than one wife. The one that conquered the Sunset Kingdoms even wed his sisters. In my tribe nobody would consider marrying a woman from the same town, but I guess everybody has his own traditions."

"Dany is not my sister," Jon countered, though she is his aunt. _How strange that sounds. She is barely a year younger than me._

Tito shrugged his shoulders.

"I never thought that…you two don't show much resemblance to each other," Tito added and bound the ribbon back around the scabbard of his sword.

"It seems you managed to put Aemon to sleep," Dany interrupted their conversation, a warm smile showing on her lips as she regarded Aemon.

"It seems so," Jon agreed and Dany sat down next to his.

Jon didn't know what brought it on, but Tito rose to his feet and jerked his head towards the brook.

"I will leave you for a while," he added with a knowing smile and marched off.

"Do that," Jon added, his gaze flickering back to Dany. It seems Tito granted him his wish for privacy. _Now or never._

"Dany," he said after he had placed Aemon back in her arms."I need to know…Why didn't you tell me that you were carrying our child?"

She paled visibly, fear written all over her face.

"There was more than one reason," she replied hesitatingly and swallowed hard. "I wanted to tell you, but then you told me about your plans to join the Second Sons. I wasn't happy about it, but then I recalled our first meeting. I told you that the world stands open to you and I thought it would be hypocritical of me if I stopped you from putting your abilities to use. I know you did it for the coin, but you are a good swordsman. In hindsight it was a mistake…I didn't think it could get this bloody. I spent my whole life locked up in Volantis…in truth I don't know as much of the world as I like to pretend," she explained, her voice growing eerily quiet as she continued. She was also trembling, her gaze fixed on the sleeping dragons.

"Well, I suppose we make good company. Fighting the Dothraki was terrifying and my survival was pure luck. I only know Winterfell."

"I suppose," she said and angled her head to look at him. "But I shouldn't have lied to you. Your anger is justified."

"I am no longer angry with you," he assured her and smoothed his hand through short hair. "Yet there is still much we need to talk…," he trailed off and leaned closer to kiss her. Her lips were soft and inviting, but he quickly pulled away, before he could be tempted for more.

"Before you left…you spoke of marriage," she said, a ghost of a smile tugging on her lips. "Do you need one of these robed priests that worship the Seven to accomplish it?"

"No, the North is different," Jon answered and shook his head. "Our ceremonies are much simpler. Marriage ceremonies usually take place during night and preferably during full moon. Then the bride and groom stand beneath a weirwood tree and exchange vows in front of witnesses. There is not much more to it than that."

"I heard about weirwood trees," she answered and wrapped Aemon in her cloak. "But I doubt you will be able to find one in Essos."

"No," he agreed sadly. "Any tree would do, but I do think it should be a pretty one. As you told me before…nobody in Essos will care if I am a bastard. It will be for us alone."

She smiled and seemed very pleased by his words.

"Finally," she said and brushed her hand over his cheek. "That is what I have been waiting for and was the reason I refused you last time. I didn't want you to marry me because you felt obligated to do so."

Her words hit him hard, tears burning in his eyes.

"That was not the reason I asked you," he answered in a trembling voice. "I did it because I care about you, because I love you…At least it feels that way…I am not good at this, but I should have expressed myself better…" he stuttered, but was stilled when she laid her lips on his. It felt so good, like fresh summer wine, but then she stopped and leaned back on her heels, eying him with wet eyes.

"I need to learn that too," she said and pursed her lips. "I am sorry for hiding the truth. I won't do it again. I promise."

…

 **Ned**

Maester Aemon was breaking his fast when Ned entered his dimly-lit shed. The smell of raven shit and ink met his nostrils as he moved towards the large wooden table placed in the middle of the room. Parchments, scrolls and old leather-bound tomes covered half the table, hiding the shrunken old man from Ned's searching gaze.

On a smaller table sat the Maester's steward, a chubby boy named Samwell Tarly. Ned knew his Lord Father, but the boy and the grim Lord of Hornhill shared little resemblance. The boy was shy and clumsy, but supposedly very clever.

"Maester Aemon," Ned addressed the blind old man."You called for me?"

"I did," the Measter answered and lifted his head, his unseeing eyes staring off in the distance. "A raven arrived this morning…from Winterfell."

"My son?" Ned asked and swallowed hard.

The Maester smiled and pulled forth a raven scroll hidden in pocket of his dark robes. Then he shifted his attention to Samwell Tarly, who was watching them attentively.

"Samwell," the Maester addressed the boy. "I think you should do your work elsewhere."

The boy paled.

"Of course," the boy muttered anxiously and gathered his many maps. "Of course."

A moment later he was gone, leaving only Ned and Maester Aemon.

"I didn't dare to read it," the Maester added softly and held the roll out to Ned. "And I can assure you…this Janos Slynt and his companions will hear nothing of this conversation."

The mention of Janos Slynt made his blood boil. Ned dishonoured himself by accepting the false accusations of treason to save his daughters, but even that was not enough for the Lannisters. It shouldn't have surprised him that Tywin Lannister sent a dozen of Lannister loyalist's to keep a close eye on the former Lord of Winterfell. The only relief was that the Lord Commander disapproved of their presence.

 _At least they won't be able to follow me beyond the Wall._

"I thank you, Maester," Ned replied politely and picked the raven scroll Maester Aemon's hand. Carefully, he unrolled the piece of paper and read the few precious lines written by Robb's hand.

It was not much, only an assurance that he made peace with Tywin Lannister and fulfilled his vow to Walder Frey to wed one of his daughters. Yet it was the mention of Arya's safe return to Winterfell that brought the greatest relief, though Sansa's remaining betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 _I should have left after the wolf died_ , he realized far too late. _I should have never ventured south._

"Bad news?" the Maester Aemon asked and graced him with a toothless smile. He looked fragile and sickly and yet he was inquiring about Ned's well-being.

"No," Ned answered and forced a smile over his lips. "My son informed me that he bent the knee to King Joffrey. One of my daughters finally made it home, but the other one remains betrothed to the King."

"So it is true," the old man remarked and chuckled. "The King is a bastard."

Ned was stunned by his directness, but tried to keep his mask in place.

"I confessed my crime," Ned insisted. "That is why I am here."

"Indeed," Maester Aemon confirmed and leaned on the table."Yet it doesn't change the truth, the boy is not Robert Baratheon's son. You are not the first man that was punished for revealing an uncomfortable truth."

"How can you be sure?" Ned asked hesitatingly.

"I am blind, but my hearing is very good," the old man explained. "My childhood in King's Landing taught me how to spot a lying man, but you don't have to fear me. I am a man of the Night's Watch and I take no part in the struggles between your family and the Lannisters. I was simply curious, but I have to admit… it fills me with joy to see the proud Tywin Lannister fooled by his children, though it won't ease the loss of my family."

 _His family._

The realization hit him like thunder. The man in front of him is Jon's last living relative

"True," Ned agreed and exhaled deeply while holding the raven scroll over a burning candle. "We all lost much through the Rebellion. For whatever it is worth, I didn't approve of Tywin Lannisters butchery."

Yet his words' didn't help to erase the pain written all over the old man's face.

Guilt clenched around his heart like a tight noose and spurred him to headless actions.

"How well did you know, Prince Rhaegar?" he asked, before he even registered that the words had left his mouth.

The old man shrugged his shoulders, surprise apparent on his wrinkled face. "I met him only once, but he wrote me letters. He liked discussing prophecies and sometimes we also spoke of personal matters…," he trailed off.

"Prophecy," Ned muttered to himself, recalling his last conversation with Lya. She spoke about a prophecy or whatever her feverish mind conjured up in her last moments. _Utter nonsense._

"My Lord," the Maester began, but Ned cut him off.

"I am no Lord," he insisted and met the old man's gaze. "Did Prince Rhaegar ever speak to you about my sister?"

"He did," Maester Aemon confirmed, a weary expression taking hold of his features. "I know the prevailing opinion among your people is that he raped her, but the way he spoke about her points in a different direction. Forgive me for saying so, but I had the impression that the feeling was mutual, for in his last letter he informed me that his beloved Lyanna is joyful to carry his child. I always wondered if the child survived," he continued, his unseeing eyes wide and hopeful.

Ned felt as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

 _Gods be good_ , Ned thought and braced himself against the table. _He knows._

"My sister died of a fever…" Ned began and wanted to deny the existence of such a child, but when he saw the tears rolling down the old man's cheeks he shuddered and paused. He was unable to control it, the words leaving his mouth, before his mind was able to register them. "She died of childbed fever."

Utter silence reigned between them and the old man grasped the handle of his chair with such a force that Ned feared he might hurt himself.

"And the child?" the Maester asked his breathing raggedly. "Did the child die?"

"No," Ned replied, not able to lie in the old man's face. "The boy lived."

"A boy," the old man muttered weakly, leaning on the table. His breathing grew laboured and he started to trembled. "Where is the boy?"

"Far away," Ned replied vaguely, but seeing the man's heartfelt reaction he doubted the he would ever betray his secret. If anything he gave the old man peace by telling him that not all of his family members perished in the Rebellion. "Jon left because he found out the truth."

"The bastard son that should have joined the Night's Watch," the old Maester said, realization showing on his withered face. "Your brother mentioned him. Was you brother aware of the truth?"

"Aye," Ned confirmed. "Benjen knew. I also told my wife and son. Now you can count yourself among these precious few who know the truth."

"Where did the boy go?" the old man asked almost impatiently.

"Essos," Ned replied unwillingly. "He left for Essos."

"I thank you for telling me the truth," the old man said, a smile banishing away his sadness. "I thought I was the last of my kind, but it grieves me that the boy will be alone... a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing."

…


	8. Lhazar

**Daenerys**

They had travelled for nearly three moons when they found the borders of Lhazar marked by endless plains of pasture. What followed was a beautiful landscape, full of rolling plains of brightly coloured grass. Tito's people call it _fire grass_ , it is used to produce oil for lamps and cookfires.

Yet they were still a days' ride away from Tito's birthplace Lhazosh, one of the three major cities belonging to the Lhazareen. Dany was relieved when Tito informed them, for she longed for night under a proper roof. Lhazar proved quite warm, but the nights were often frosty. Jon and Tito tolerated the cold well enough, but Aemon and Dany were different. Every night she had to wrap her son in several layers of cloaks and pelt to keep him warm.

The dragons were similar. They held great dislike for the cold and dug deep holes to ward off the icy wind.

"Finally," Tito said and pointed at the town located near the swirling slope of a river, glittering like a band of silver in the last rays of sunshine. Like most Lhazareen towns, the houses were made of wooden planks and roofs covered with dried _fire grass_. The only protections were wooden walls and ditches meant to ward off unwelcome enemies."This is the last town before Lhazosh. We should stay here overnight...the rest of the way we will only find sheep herds and fields.

"You know your homeland best," Jon said and winced as straightened himself in his saddle. Dany shared his pain. Her ass was wound from the long ride.

Aemon whimpered in her arms, obviously unhappy that he hadn't been fed for several hours.

 _Have a little patience_ , she whispered and rocked him, her eyes darting to the three dragons soaring above their heads. She had looked at them a thousand times, but their beauty was still breath-taking. Especially, now as the first rays of sunshine fell upon, their scales and skin gave the appearance of diamonds and other precious jewels.

 _Rhaegon's_ smooth skin looked like black obsidian. _Sonarys'_ scales glowed like the surface of a blue diamond flecked with gold. Yet it were _Viserions'_ wings that stole her breath away.

Their rapid growth was even more astounding. In the matter of moons they had doubled in size. Feeding them was becoming more and more difficult, though Dany believed it was the freedom that made them thrive.

"One day I want to see your land," Tito replied and dismounted."I want to see this frozen snow."

"It's called snow," Jon corrected him, but Tito ignored him and grinned.

"I like my term better," Tito jested and grabbed the reins of his horse, leading it along a downtrodden trail towards the river. Near the river bend she noticed a handful of girls, some bathing and others cleaning colourful clothes.

Dany followed suit and climbed from her saddle, Aemon secured on her arm. Jon walked next to her, Ghost not trailing after his horse.

Two of the dragons, as if they were able to sense their plans, descended from the sky. Dany stretched her free arm and Rhaegon landed on it, his tail curled around her upper arm. Sonarys followed suit and settled himself on Jon's shoulder. Only Viserion continued to soar above their heads, his silver wings spread wide. He gave a lonely appearance. If Viserys had he could have claimed Viserion as his own. Sadly, she was only able to give Viserion her brother's name.

 _Maybe Aegon could become his ride_ r, she wondered not for the first time, but that moment was years away. _Who knows how big the dragons will be by then._

"We should spend the night out here. Ghost and the dragons could frighten the inhabitants," Tito suggested and pointed at the grassy plain sprawling around the river bend. Further away from the river the grass changed to a pale yellow colour, but close to the river the grass was a rich green. The pattern was reminiscent of a colour motley.

They followed the river and built a camp beneath a large tree. Jon watered the horses and Dany used the time to fed Aegon. By the time her son was sated Tito had made a proper cook fire. Ghost was already slumbering on a patch of grass as Dany set down next to the popping fire. Carefully, she placed her sleeping son on her folded cloak and made sure to cover him with a warm pelt.

A moment later the dragons were there, swarming around her like a bear around a pot of honey. Rhaegon started to blow small flames in the air and Viserion started to shriek. Only Sonarys remained calm and sat on the branch of the mighty tree, providing them with a pleasant shade.

"Soon they will have plenty of meat," Tito promised."My family owns a large herd of sheep. Believe me...after a moon or two you will start to pray for something else than sheep meat."

"I doubt the dragons would care," Jon remarked and slumped down next to the fire, his cloak thrown around his shoulders."Still..Why are you so sure that your people won't mind the dragons?"

Tito shrugged his shoulders and sat down next to Jon.

"My people have never seen dragons," Tito explained. "But they are quite adaptive. Besides, you will have to convince my mother and brother of your trustworthiness. They are the ones in charge of the city."

"They are in charge of the city?" Jon asked, surprise apparent on his face. "Is your family some sort of nobility?"

"I don't know what that means, but my Father was elected to the position of chief upon my grandfather's passing. My brother succeeded him a after his death and it is very likely that his will be the next chief . The office has been in our family throughout generations," Tito continued to explain and nibbled on the piece of fruit he had cut apart with his dagger.

"Elected chief?" Dany asked curiously. "That sounds familiar. The Triarchs of Volantis are elected every year, but it seems the term of your rulers is rather lengthy. How long is "throughout generations"?"

"I don't know, a long time," Tito answered. "It is not important. I think the office has been occupied by my family since my grand-grand grandfather."

"And your mother?" Jon asked and leaned over to feed Ghost with a piece of dried meat. "You mentioned that she _and_ your brother are in charge of the city."

Tito shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, my mother is no the chief, but my brother likes to leave the squabbling farmers to my mother. She is a learned woman and my people respect her for her knowledge."

"Learned woman?" Dany asked. "What does it mean?"

"That she knows a lot," Tito explained matter-of-factly, obviously amused by their interest. "She taught me how to speak and to write the language of the Free Cities. Not many among my people have this knowledge."

"And you think she will welcome us despite the dragons?" Dany asked and continued her questioning. Tito's mother intrigued him, though she didn't want to appear too eager.

Tito grinned and bared his teeth.

"My mother is rather eccentric and very fond of stories. You will understand what I mean once you meet her.

…

 **Robb**

Lord Karstark looked grim as ever, but that didn't surprise Robb. A week ago he invited his bannermen to attend the harvest festival. Every Lord one of his Lords joined him in Winterfell, only Lord Karstark excused himself.

Robb tried not to hold it against him as is Lady Mother advised him.

 _He lost his sons_ , his Lady mother had told him only hours ago.

It was true. Lord Karstark lost two of his sons in the Battle of the Whispering Woods, but so did many others. Lady Hornwood lost her husband and son, yet not a single word of anger passed over her lips when Robb spoken to her during the harvest festival. She even accepted his suggestion to legitimize her Lord husband's bastard son Lawrence Snow, though only on the the condition that the boy won't succeed to his father's position until her death.

"It took you long enough to make it here, Karstark," the Greatjon grumbled and took a swag from his tankard. "Did you get lost?"

The Greatjon's words earned him a murderous look.

"I had to bury my sons, Umber," Lord Karstark replied curtly and shifted his attention to Robb. "And my only remaining son and heir remains imprisoned by our enemy while your son is enjoying himself with the whores of Wintertown."

"Such rudeness!" the Greatjon barked and slashed his hand on the table, the wood giving away under the might of his blow. "I will…," he continued, Robb whistled and Greywind rose to his feet. His wolf bared his teeth and the men stopped.

"I didn't call you here to endure such childish quarrels, Lord Umber!" Robb shouted and tried imitate his father's voice.

Then he swept his gaze over the assembled men. There was the Greatjon Umber, Lord Manderly, Lord Glover and of course Lord Karstark.

"Of course, my Lord," The Greatjon muttered, but accepted his reprimind with grace.

Relieved, Robb shifted his attention back to Lord Karstark.

"It is regrettable that you were unable to attend the harvest festival, my Lord Karstark," Robb added politely and whistled, calling Greywind back to his side. "But it is good that you came here to hear my decision concerning the Hornwood lands. Your daughter was after all deprived of a future husband, was she not?"

"She was," Lord Karstark confirmed curtly and took his seat next to Lord Manderly."My Alys was indeed betrothed to Lord Hornwood's heir."

"I intend to have Lord Hornwoods's natural son legitimized. The boy is only a few years younger than your…," he continued, but Lord Karstark cut him off, his face a grimace of anger.

"My daughter will not wed a bastard, legitimized or not!" he snapped angrily. "I will not be humiliated in such a manner, my Lord Stark."

Robb sighed. He never had any intention to force the matter, but the Hornwood lands are rich and he didn't expect such a violent reaction. Lawrence Snow wouldn't be the first bastard to be legitimized and wed to a Lady of trueborn stock.

"On the contrary," Robb replied as calmly as possible. "This arrangement was merely a suggestion. You may wed your daughter to whomever you like. Insulting you was not my intention."

"And yet you sit idly while the Lannisters occupy the Iron Throne," Lord Karstark said what many a man didn't dare to say to his face. Robb was not fool. He knew that most of his men were disappointed by his actions. He won one battle after another and many of them believed that they could have won the war."Stannis Baratheon is amassing an army to claim his throne from the Lannister bastard. The only reason I haven't yet joined his cause is my respect to your Lord Father. Yet this respect is dwindling as my son and heir remains a captive."

"Your son is a respected hostage," Robb countered and steeled his nerves for the rebuttal. "He will be released within a year. Tywin Lannister…," he continued and was promptly interrupted.

"Curse Tywin Lannister!" Lord Karstark raged and pounded his hand on the table. "I don't give an inkling of shit about his promises. We know how they are bought…with blood…the blood of my sons."

"You have my honest sympathies for the loss of your sons," Robb declared and tightened his grip on the handle of his chair. "But such is the way of war. Other men have also lost their sons and none of them show me such disrespect. I should cast out of my halls, but I will refrain from doing so, because I know that it is only your rage that drives you to such headless actions. I am sure you know why I forged peace with Tywin Lannister. It was not because I wanted to avoid battle, but to save my Lord Father's life. I would gladly join Stannis Baratheon in his struggle against the Lannisters, but I have no interest to see my sister's head mounted on a pike. Now let us return to the matter of hand…the Hornwood lands."

Then he paused briefly to gather his thoughts.

"As I said before," Robb said and jerked his head at Master Luwin, who had remained silent throughout the heated exchange. "Lawrence Snow shall be legitimized. Does anyone here wish to voice his objections?"

The Greatjon and Lord Manderly remained silent, but Lord Karstark made his disagreement known.

"Why should a cursed bastard rule over the Hornwood lands if there are other lords eligible to hold these lands?"

Robb expected this answer and turned to look at Lord Glover.

"Tell Lord Karstark about this cursed bastard's character," Robb replied through gritted teeth.

"I have raised the boy from early age…he is a fine boy and will make a good lord. All he needs is a proper wife," Lord Glover added his voice.

Lord Karstark laughed.

"Well, I am sure your Lord Father harboured similar thought about his own bastard," Lord Karstark mocked. "And what did he do? He ran off with a whore."

Robb heard enough and rose to his feet.

"I think I have heard enough of your venomous hatred," Robb replied and rose to his feet, trying to keep his anger at bay."I ask you to leave, my Lord. Return once you regained your ability to control your rude speech."

Silence reigned for a long moment, before Lord Karstark rose to his feet.

"Very well," The proud Lord declared coldly. "I shall not return until my son has returned to me."

"What a bitter cunt," the Greatjon grumbled and broke the heavy silent that had settled over them after Lord Karstark's departure. "Don't fret about it, my Lord."

"I am above such insults," Robb replied coldly and sat down. Greywind came to his side and licked his fingers.

"My Lord Stark," Lord Manderly broke the silence, a jolly smile curing on his lips. "May I speak?"

"Speak," Robb replied and picked up his goblet.

"I don't wish to insult you, Lord Stark," Lord Manderly tittered. "But maybe you could consider to ransom Lord Karstark's son. This may help to ease his anger."

"Lord Tywin already offered such an arrangement," Robb replied unhappily. "But the price is too high. The harvest was good, but the Maesters believe that this will be the longest winter in a thousand years. I intend to buy corn from Essos."

"I see," Lord Manderly replied and graced Robb with assuring smile. "But I think I have a solution for your problem. Allow me to shoulder the costs. House Manderly owes house Stark. Let may ease your burden, my Lord."

Robb wanted to refuse, but Lord Manderly was right. He couldn't afford to make an enemy of Lord Karstark. Yet he was sure that Lord Manderly expected something in return.

"Very well," Robb replied and returned Lord Manderly's smile. "House Stark will ask for this favour, but in return I would like to suggest a match between the future Lord Hornwood and your younger granddaughter. Would such an arrangement please you or are you also insulted by the stain of bastardy, my Lord?"

"Of course not," Lord Manderly assured him quickly."My granddaughter will be pleased to wed the future Lord Hornwood."

 _A small success_ , Robb thought and sighed deeply.

"Very well," Robb said and leaned back in his chair. "We should proceed."

"Of course," Master Luwin added and cleared his throat. Other topics were discussed, ranging from simple land disputes to marriage arrangements. It was late evening when they were finished.

"Lord Manderly," he addressed the Lord of White Harbour. "There is another matter I want to address…in private."

Robb read surprise on Lord Manderly's face.

"Of course," Lord Manderly and remained seated. "How may I be of service?"

"It is a rather delicate matter that I intend to put into your hands…it concerns my brother Jon," Robb explained and explained deeply. "Your son informed me not long ago that my brother travelled to Braavos. I Know it is much to ask, but your son knows the Free Cities better than most men…I am sure he would be able to find my brother."

"My son will be pleased to fulfil this important task," Lord Manderly declared confidently. "I assume you want this to be a secret?"

Robb nodded his in confirmation.

"Does that mean I can trust on your secrecy, my Lord?"

Lord Manderly smiled and sipped from his cup. The crimson liquid splattered his doublet and cloak.

"You can, Lord Stark. You can."

…

 **Jon**

They departed before the sun had risen beyond the horizon, the river drenched in bright sunlight. The dragon led the way, soaring above their heads like three colourful kites.

Jon liked watching them, though he worried about the impending meeting with the Lhazareen. Tito was too enthusiastic, but Jon remained sceptical.

Yet he hoped that everything will work out. For Dany's sake they needed a place to stay. Neither Aemon nor the dragons could endure the constant travelling.

These thoughts occupied his mind as they continued their travel, passing more plains and hills. Sometimes they saw a sheep herd grazing on the plains of colourful glass, kept in check by a few riders mounted on small horses. Once they came upon a smaller herd, not more than a hundred sheep, protected by two young children. Yet they moved on quickly after one of two young girls threatened Ghost with a handmade bow.

 _Your wolf looks similar to the desert jackals_ , Tito had explained to them. _They feared that Ghost might kill sheep._

"I can see it!" Dany exclaimed suddenly, her voice alight with happiness."Finally."

Jon tore his gaze away from the dragons and angled his head to look at the city walls rising behind the distant horizon.

It didn't surprise him that Lhazosh had city walls, but the magnitude surprised him, given that all the other Lhazareen towns he had seen so far were mostly made of wood and clay. These walls were made of high, white stone walls, the surface glinting like a polished blade. The city was slightly bigger than White Harbour, but densely populated. The outskirts were littered with small wooden houses, sheds and fields. It looked like wheat, corn and barley.

"Finally," Jon agreed and graced Dany with a relieved smile. She looked tired, her face pale, though she was smiling. Aemon was also awake and gurgled, his small fingers pulling Dany's bright-coloured robes.

The eyes of the Lhazareen followed them as they rode along the dusty road leading to the main gate.

The street was busy. Carts rolled by, transporting barely and people alike, children played their games and a pair of guards gambled.

Yet all of them stopped their activities when they spotted the dragons soaring over the sky. One woman gasped, a small girl started to cry and a boy pointed at the sky.

Tito led the way, an amused grin playing on his lips while Jon avoided to look at the onlookers. Dany was much the same, her gaze fixed on the city ahead, a look of determination apparent on her face.

Inside the city they found houses made of equally white stone, some more whole than others. On top roofs he spotted green gardens and even trees.

It was a beautiful city, but Jon missed his home, the snow and winter's touch on his cheeks. Even in Braavos he missed his home, though he never dared to voice it in front of Dany. She had been so happy and now they had to make a new beginning, in this strange land.

More and more people stopped along the road to get a look at the dragons, though none looked violent or angered. Most of them looked simply awed.

None of them dared to speak to Jon or Dany, though they spoke with Tito. Some smiled at him, others frowned. It was odd, because Jon was unable to understand their language.

They moved along the main road, passed the large statue of a man carrying the staff of a shepherd, a flock of sheep perched beneath his feet, before they crossed over a small bridge leading in different part of the city.

A flock birds fled from the dragons as they crossed a large courtyard, leading to a broad staircase giving access to the stone building above. It was a two-storied building with a thatched roof painted in a dull red colour.

A handful of guards, armed with spears appeared from behind the gates, their dark eyes stunned by Tito's appearance.

A brief exchanged followed. Then the leader of the guards pulled off his helmet and revealed a sweat-covered face. The resemblance between Tito and the older man was unmistakable. They shared the same sharp cheekbones and the same straight nose, though his hair was smooth and short, while Tito's was curled and fell to his shoulders.

First the man frowned and then he started to laugh.

They exchanged a hearty hug and continued to exchange pleasantries. Jon didn't dare to move, his eyes fixed on the dragons, circling above their heads.

Tito was calm as ever and pointed at the dragons.

Gasps escaped their mouths and one man even dropped his spear.

The leader of the guards was about to open his mouth when a young woman decided to interrupt their meeting. She was tall and graced with copper-skin, her hair kept in a tangle of braids.

Tito grinned happily and patted his scabbard.

 _His sister_ , Jon guessed. They had the same eyes, golden brown like running honey.

Jon read anger on the young woman's face. No word left her mouth as she slapped Tito. Jon winced and Tito rubbing his burning cheek.

Yet his friend continued to smile and jerked his head at the young woman.

"May I introduce my sister Larsha," he said as if nothing happened."Don't be afraid. That is her way to express how much she missed my presence."

"The slap was well-deserved," the young woman said in broken Bastard Valyrian.

"Three years, brother. Mother thought you dead," she added and took in Jon and Dany. "And now you bring these foreigners here."

"And dragons!" Tito added with a grin and pointed at the sky. Larsha lifted her gaze and froze. Then she covered her mouth and remained like this for a whole minute.

"Did I startle you, sweet sister?" Tito teased and earned himself another slap on the shoulder, though less hard than the first one.

"I am…Hibal," the man who shared Tito's features decided to introduce himself."Tito is my brother."

"A pleasure," Jon replied politely and Dany followed suite. Then she smiled and called for the dragons."Māzigon kesīr!"

 _Come here_ , she had said and Jon tried to recall the High Valyrian Dany taught him. By now he understood the basic grammar, but his pronunciation was terrible and the hundred different conjugations never fail to make his head squirm.

At once the dragons obeyed and propelled themselves downwards. Sonarys settled on his shoulder while Viserys landed on the ground beside Dany's feet. Rhaegon followed Sonarys example and settled on her shoulder, his head rubbing against her neck.

"By the Great Shepard!" Larsha muttered, her eyes wide in shock. "It's like mother's stories!"

"You don't have to be afraid," Jon assured them softly and stroked his hand over the dragon's head. Ghost was not far, his white fur standing out like a sore thumb. "Neither the dragons or my wolf will do you harm."

"I believe you… Jon…Did I say your name right?" Hibal asked in broken Bastard Valyrian.

"Jon is fine," Jon confirmed with a smile.

"And I am Dany," Dany added. "I am pleased to meet you too. Tito spoke very kindly about his family."

"He did?" Larsha asked and wrinkled her brows. "Well, mother will be anxious to meet you."

"I sure hope so," Tito replied cheekily and Larsha rolled her eyes. "I was speaking about our guests. You can be happy if mother doesn't wash your ears for running off like a fool."

"I fought Dothraki," he declared proudly and Larsha's face softened a little.

"You are still a fool," Larsha chided and graced Jon and Dany with a smile.

"I will lead you to my mother," she explained and winked with her hand as if to indicate to follow after her."Please follow after me."

Instantly the guards parted and allowed them to pass. Slowly, they descended the steps towards a large wooden door. It opened with a loud groan and revealed a round inner courtyard, overseen by balconies carved out white cedar wood. Vines snaked around the walls and flower pots decorated the steps. Jon spotted women and children of all ages, observing their entrance with great curiosity.

Some came running towards Larsha, pulled on her skirt started to ask question. They only stopped after they spotted Ghost and the dragons . Some froze in fear and others stared in awe.

"Come along," Larsha called and shooed the children away. Then they led them up another staircase leading up to a bronze door."This way. Don't mind my wild nieces and nephews. You will get used to them."

Jon couldn't help but to smile. The swarm of children made him think of Winterfell and his siblings.

 _Not now_ , he thought and brushed the thoughts away before they were able to take hold of his mind.

Another staircase followed, before entered a round room lightened with braziers. Elevated above the tables, placed near the walls, was a high seat carved out of white wood and covered with brown pelt.

On the opposing side were two guards, armed with sharp spears and painted shields.

"So you have returned, my unruly son," a soft voice remarked, belonging to a woman standing on the other side of the room. She was tall and beautiful, her dark hair streaked with silver, but falling around her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She looked very different from the other Lhazareen women. Her skin was pale like snow and her eyes were strangely-formed, very narrow and almond-shaped. Yet her golden-coloured eyes betrayed her identity.

 _This is Tito's mother._

Tito smiled brightly and lowered his head in reverence.

"I have returned, mother" Tito replied and jerked his head at Jon and Dany."And I brought guests."

"I can see that," Tito's mother replied and descended down the steps, her pale robes swishing after her.

"And dragons," she added, her eyes wide in wonder as she took in _Sonarys'_ appearance. There was calmness to her that unsettled Jon. Tito's mother seemed completely unfazed as if it was a common occurrence to see dragons. "Truly, those are gracious beasts."

"How did you accomplish it?"

"The eggs hatched after I put them in a burning pyre," Daenerys explained vaguely.

"I see," Tito's mother said and smiled unbelievingly. "When I was very young I travelled to Asshai…it was there that I first laid eyes on dragon eggs. A wise woman prophesied me that I would see a living dragon within my lifetime. It seems the time has finally come. _The Lion of Night_ will soon be unleashed upon the world."

Jon was confused by her words, but tried to remain polite.

"The Lion of Night?" he asked. "Is that a myth from Lhazar?"

"No, from my homeland," she answered and winked with her hand, as if to indicate that it wasn't important. "Forgive me…I was just elated to see a living dragon," she continued and smiled. "Now let us come back to the topic at hand. What brings you all the way to Lhazar?"

"Tito told us we would be welcome among your people," Jon explained their purpose. "The dragons need a safe place. Lhazar is a wide land. We are asking for asylum."

"I understand," Tito's mother said, her eyes resting on Dany. "My son, who rules this city will not be pleased. His people don't like outsiders. It took years before they accepted me as one of their own."

Tito frowned.

"Jon fought at my side against our common enemy, the Dothraki," Tito defended Jon. He is trustworthy."

"I believe you," Tito's mother replied. "And I will do my best to convince my son. For the time being you have our hospitality."

Jon had hoped for more, but it was better than nothing.

"I thank you, my Lady."

…

 **Ser Barristan**

The darkness gave away to light as Ser Barristan slipped along a dusty wall, towards the _Silk Maiden_. Ser Barristan was a man of the Kingsguard and tended to avoid such places, but it was this place the Spider chose as their meeting place.

 _I should curse him_ , he thought, but he was a knight without a King. Prince Joffrey had disposed of him like a dirty pair of smallclothes, though that was not the only reason he was filled with bitterness.

 _I bent the knee to serve a better King, but that was another lie._

Briefly, he considered joining Stannis or Renly Baratheon's cause, but then the Spider contacted him and he decided to delay his decision. Barristan distrusted the man, but nobody can deny his knowledge.

One of the ladies led him into a small anteroom where he found the Spider, clad in a simple black cloak. The lack of his silken robes made him almost unrecognizable.

"Good Ser Barristan," the Spider greeted with overflowing sweetness."It pleases me to see you hale. After the unfortunate…," he began, but Ser Barristan wanted to hear nothing of the humiliating exchange in the Throne Room.

"Make it quick and tell me about your findings," he demanded coldly, his hand grazing over the pommel of his sword.

"Hasty as ever," Lord Varys chided him his tittering voice. "But it is understandable. Let me be brief…I received delicate news from Essos. The rumours say that dragons have returned to the world."

Barristan felt as if all air had drained out of his body.

"Dragons?" he asked and thought the man in front of him mad."Are you trying to take me for a fool?"

"Of course not," the Spider assured him."My source wouldn't lie about such a delicate matter. Well, it confirms another suspicion of mine…I firmly believe that one of Queen Rhaella's children escaped the assassination attempt...it is the only possible explanation. Who else can command dragons other than those of Valyrian blood?"

"True," Ser Barristan replied hesitatingly."But King Robert firmly believed that they died. Or was that a lie?"

"Lie?" Lord Varys asked and smiled as sweetly as an innocent maid. "I might have withheld certain pieces of information from our most gracious King, but I have never lied to his face. No corpse was found, which leads me back to the original purpose of our meeting. I want you to find whoever commands these dragons and report to me about his whereabouts."

"And why should I trust you?" Barristan demanded to know."Or do you think I have forgotten how you pitted the Mad King against Prince Rhaegar?"

"I did no such thing," Lord Varys replied, amusement apparent his face. "I invited you here to offer you a purpose, Sir Barristan. Agree or don't agree, I won't argue with you…," he trailed off.

"I will do it," Ser Barristan said at last. "Where do I begin?

"Braavos," Varys provided quickly. "The rumours about the dragons started in Braavos."

"That is not much information," Ser Barristan remarked and sighed heavily. Yet deep inside his heart he allowed himself a glimpse of hope.

 _If there is a chance that the Prince or Princess survived I need to take it._

 _I owe it to Queen Rhaella._

"I will do it," Ser Barristan repeated his declaration of acceptance."But I have one last question."

"Speak, Ser Barristan."

"Why are you doing all this?"

The Spider smiled sweetly.

"I fear I can't answer your question to your full satisfaction, but know this…I serve the realm."

…


	9. Tales of Yi Ti

**Jon**

The sun was barely visible through the shrouds of fog blanketing the hills and plains ahead. Lhazar was a vast land, not unlike the North, though of a more pleasant climate. It hardly rained, though when it finally did, it poured down on them as if he gods decided drown them. Yet it was this thick fog that never failed to fascinate Jon.

Every week, Tito, Jon and the other men rode out to scout the lands for potential enemies and every morning they encountered the same thick fog. Tito was unbothered, but Jon was always relieved when fog dispersed. Jon preferred to see his enemies.

"Don' fret about it, friend," Tito remarked and pointed at the sky. "The sun will soon banish away the fog."

Jon nodded his head and followed after the column of riders. All of them were older than Jon, warriors who had seen countless battles. Tito's oldest brother Mallar, the chief of the city of Lhazosh, was their leader. He was a stern man of ten and three, but Jon was thankful that he allowed him and Dany to remain in the city. Jon didn't know how, but Tito's mother was somehow able to convince her son.

Jon suited this task just fine. He certainly preferred using his sword than being a sheep farmer.

"The next town should be the last one before we reach the border to Kosrak," one of his companions explained. He was one of Tito's many cousins. After three moons Jon was beginning to understand bits and pieces of their language, though he still had much to learn. Dany learned quicker and was already able to hold conversations with Tito's relatives. Especially, his older sister Larsha seemed taken by Dany and dedicated much of her time to educate her in traditions of the Lhazraeen culture.

Jon was more than surprised when the young woman appeared on their doorstep, armed with a bow and spear to take Dany for a hunting trip. It seems hunting small animals was some of sport among the women of this city.

Dany was fascinated and now she often returned home with a dead hare, a peacock and once she even killed a squirrel.

"Finally," Tito muttered and straightened himself on his horse. Jon nodded and took in the town they had passed at least a dozen of times. Unlike most Lhazareen town the walls were made of brown clay and there were even several watchtowers rising above the outer walls. Outside the city they were greeted by the sight of corn and barely fields. The dying sun light gave the fields the appearance of a sea of gold. "First we rest and then we ride back."

The other men smiled, sharing his relief. They had ridden for days and most of them longed for home. Jon shared their relief, but he couldn't help but to feel uneasy as they continued ride through the town. Something was different.

The people were far more guarded than usual and the streets were almost deserted.

"What is going on here? Where are your people?" Tito asked an elderly woman, perched on her doorstep and working a spindle. Beneath her feet sat a young girl, who tried to hide behind her grandmother's back when Ghost's ruby eyes fell upon her.

"Stay away, boy!" he told his wolf and touched his head. "You are frightening the little girl."

Ghost yawned and trailed back to his side.

"The women and children left to seek shelter behind the walls of Kosrak," the elderly woman explained."And the men went to join the warriors. A Dothraki horde was seen and the chief of the city asked for their assistance."

"Dothraki?" Tito asked, his voice laced with displeasure. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," the woman replied and patted the girl's cheek. "We will leave soon, but we have to wait for my son's return. He is still out on the plains with our herd of sheep."

"I see," Tito replied and led his horse along the dusty road. At the end of the city they found a well, where they were able to water their horses. Once they were finished they settled down a green patch of grass, Ghost curling down beside him.

"Shall we ride for Kosrak?" one of their companions asked Tito. He was the youngest of the warriors, though still a handful of years older than Tito. He was asking for Tito's decision as his brother put him in charge of this scouting troop.

"Not all of us," Tito explained. "My brother awaits our report. We have to return."

Then he let his gaze sweep over the group of men, coming to rest on a scar-faced man of middle high. He was his good-brother, though his name escaped Jon. His friend had so many relatives, trying to recall all their names made his head squirm. "Would you go, brother?"

"Of course," the man replied and rose to his feet. "I will go and return as swiftly as possible. You should leave soon or you won't be able to make it back before sunset."

Then he freed his horse and mounted it in one quick motion.

"True," Tito agreed and winked. It was the way of the Lhazareen warriors to show respect to show respect to each other. "We shall see each other in Lhazosh. Take good care and may the Great Shepard protect you."

"And the Great Shepard protect you!" the man replied and left a cloud of dust in his wake.

Jon and the others left moments later. It was as if Tito was possessed by a demon. It was strange to see him like this. He was always quick to jape, but now he carried an almost gloomy expression.

"Is it uncommon for the Dothraki to come here at this time of the year?" Jon asked his friend as they passed yet another sheep herd. This was a particularly big one, guarded by at least a dozen of men and women. It felt as if the sheep were slowly swallowing up the landscape. That they blocked the way ahead didn't fail to worsen Tito's ill mood.

"It is," his friend replied almost sourly. "They usually attack during the dry season. Whatever reason compelled them to attack earlier…it is not good for us. The harvest has yet to be brought in and knowing the Dothraki they will burn our fields to ash."

Jon swallowed hard, trying to lift his spirit. Usually, it was the other way around.

"You still have the sheep," Jon countered. "They will feed your people."

"The sheep are not enough," Tito replied bitterly. "And the Dothraki will take them too. They take everything from us. It has always been like this. First they burn our corn, then they steal our cattle and at last they enslave our people."

Jon had never heard him spew such hatred, but it seems the recent news had brought forth another aspect of his personality.

The rest of the way was breached in silence, the whispering of the wind their only companion.

Relieve washed over Jon when he spotted the familiar white walls.

It was dusk, the sky streaked in stripes of orange and red. The sun was a fat ball of light, soon to be swallowed by the approaching night.

Dany and Larsha greeted them as they led their horses towards the main gate. They were dressed in hunting gear; knee-length tunics, fastened with a leather belt and rough-spun pants of wool. Around their shoulders they carried their bows and their game. Jon counted two small hares on Dany's shoulder.

"We didn't expect your quick return," Dany remarked and brushed a loose strand out of hair out of her face. It was braided, but the sharp wind never failed to dishevel it. "Why this haste?"

"We bring dark tidings," Tito explained for Jon and winked at his men."I need to report to my brother. We will speak later, Jon. Please excuse me," he added quickly and led the man away.

"I see," Dany said and looked slightly disappointed. Then she shifted her attention back to Jon.

"It seems we will have," she declared proudly and pointed at the dead animal.

"Why tomorrow?" Jon asked.

"Larsha invited us to eat with her family," she explained happily and winked at the departing friend. "I could hardly refuse after they showed us so much kindness."

"True," Jon agreed."How are the dragons? Did they give you problems?" he asked, his eyes darting to the sky. There he spotted Rhaegon and Viserion circling over the city gates. They were now the size of a small horse, but their hot breath could easily kill a man. First they kept them inside the city, but they have grown unruly and wild.

"None," she confirmed. "Though I think Sonarys missed your presence."

Jon nodded his head in understanding.

"I will see to him tomorrow," he assured her and led the way towards the city gate. "I am tired and we shouldn't let our hosts wait."

Like always, the children were fascinated by Ghost. At first they were terribly afraid, but what Tito told him about his people turned out to be true. The Lhazareen are quite adaptive.

"True," Dany confirmed. Their way to the chief's home was not far, though it made Jon uneasy to reside with Tito's family. He repeatedly offered to move to another house, but Tito was always able to convince him otherwise.

 _It is better for Aemon to be around other children_ , he had explained, though Jon doubted that was the real reason. Jon had the feeling that Tito felt out of place among his people. The Lhazareen were good people, but very mistrustful towards strangers. Tito was the complete opposite. He held a great curiosity for foreign customs.

"There you are," Dany greeted Aemon, who sat perched on the colourful carpet. Not far Jon spotted one of Tito's many half- sisters and his father's second wife, Lilra. Unlike Tito's mother she was a full-blooded Lhazareen woman that hailed from the city of Hesh. She was at least ten years younger than Tito's mother, but no great beauty. Yet she had a kind smile and adored Aemon. As always, she worked her spindle. Several other girls sat beside her and worked their spindles in tandem. Some of them had children of their own, though most of them were younger than Dany.

Aemon gurgled happily as she picked him up. He counted seven moons and spent most of his time trying to crawl around. Jon never failed to marvel at every change. Aemon's blue eyes had changed to a light grey, though Dany believed to see specks of purple. His silver hair also darkened a little, though Jon doubted it will ever resemble his dark hair.

"Did he give you problems?" Dany inquired from Lirla.

"No…he liked the sheep milk," the woman explained and smiled at his son. She said more, but Jon was unable to understand it. Dany did and thanked her for her effort, before they returned to theirquarters. Their chamber was bigger than the one they occupied in Braavos, but Jon missed the red door he painted for Dany.

"I will take care of him while you change," he offered to her as she pulled off her cloak.

"Thank you," she replied and started to unfasten her belt. Then she pulled off her tunic and started to wash herself with the water kept near the bed. Jon looked away, though no longer out of embarrassment, but because he wanted to avoid the effect her naked form had on him.

Finished with her wash she pulled on a pale wool dress and fastened it with a belt. On her breast he found the stitching of a wolf and a dragon.

"A new dress?" he asked curiously as he hoisted Aemon back into her arms.

"Yes," she answered and smiled proudly. "I made it myself. Do you like it?"

"I like the wolf and the dragon," he remarked and pointed at the stitching.

She smiled.

"I made the wolf and Larsha made the dragon," she informed him quickly and jerked her head at the pot of water. "You should also get a proper wash. You stink."

Jon frowned. It wasn't like he was averse to bathing, but Dany had some sort of obsession with cleanness. In Volantis, so she had informed him, all nobles and even the common men frequent the bath house almost daily.

"I will do as you say," he assured her and got a proper wash. Then he put on a fresh tunic, his old black breeches and his riding boots.

Tito's family had already begun with their meal when they joined them. As honoured guests they were allowed to sit next to Tito and Larsha, though chief Mallar and his family eyed them with mistrust. Jon tried to ignore it and focused on his meal. It was a simple stew made of sheep meat and wild vegetables, but tasted heavenly. Even Old Nan wouldn't have been able to make it better. The pastry that followed was even better. It was a cake glazed with honey and filled with nuts. The children went crazy over it and stuffed one piece after another in their greedy little mouths. Ghost was happy to receive leftover meat and was soon peacefully snoring next to him.

Finished with their hearty meal, the children started to assemble around Tito's mother like a horde of worshippers.

"Time for a story," Dany explained and patted Aemon's head. He was gnawing on his toy, a small wooden horse gifted to him by one of Tito's nephews.

Jon finally understood. The horde of children assembled to hear a story.

The sight made him smile. Every day Old Nan would gather them around the hearth to spin her tales.

Jon couldn't help but to imagine Bran and Arya among the excited children as they demanded their favourite stories.

"Tell us about the dragonlords!" one of Tito's nieces demanded.

"Or about Sage Kings of Ghis!" a boy demanded eagerly.

"I want a happy story…like the one about the lovers Zaal and Rudaba," a girl chirped dreamily.

"Yesterday was my nameday!" Rostam, chief Mallar's son declared proudly. Jon couldn't help but to be reminded of Theon. "It should fall to me to choose the next story."

His grandmother seemed less pleased by his demand, but gave in.

"Very well," she said and smiled at her proud grandson. "What story do you want to hear, grandson?"

"A scary story," the boy declared loudly. "I want the story about the Bloodstone Emperor."

Tito's mother winced as if the name invoked some long forgotten fear.

"Very well, but for the sake of our guests I will recount the story in Bastard Valyrian...I hope you paid attention in our last lessons, grandson," she said and cleared her throat. "But I demand silence from everyone."

Instantly, silence fell over the group of children as Tito's mother began to spin her tale.

"Not long before the fall of the Empire of Dawn the Amethyst Empress ruled over the known world. Begotten by the Opal Emperor she was said to be of unsurpassed beauty. They say the gods fashioned her eyes out of the falling stars and that the finest flowers were ashamed to bloom in her presence of her crimson lips. Despite her many admirers she chose no consort to rule at her side. Some say she took a lover, a simple shepherd, but those are merely tales. For hundreds of years she ruled over the known world, but there was someone who begrudged her for her power. It was her younger brother, later known as the Bloodstone Emperor, who hated and desired his beautiful sister. Some say he was born evil, begotten on a mermaid while others say his descend to madness began after he found a fallen star, the bloodstone. Yet even before this fateful day, the Prince was known to dabble in the dark arts. Hungry for power, he fashioned himself an army of demons and beasts yet unknown to the world. Some say he was even able to overcome death itself. Thus a dark shadow was cast over the Empire of Dawn and soon after the Prince took murdered his sister. They say he dismembered her body and gathered her blood to fashion himself a new consort, the Tiger Queen. His usurpation became known as the Blood Betrayal and some say it was this vile deed that ushered in the Great Darkness..."

"But that surely wasn't the end of it, grandmother?" one of the younger girls asked and shuddered. She couldn't be older than Bran and probably heard the tale for the first time.

"No," her grandmother replied and graced the girl with a warm smile. "I just need to catch my breath. Now be still and I will tell you the rest of the story."

Then she exhaled deeply and continued with her tale.

"After the murder of the Empress the Bloodstone Emperor ascended to the throne and ushered in a century of darkness and terror. They say he enslaved his own people, feasted on human flesh and dared to cast down the true gods of Yi Ti to worship the bloodstone. Everywhere in the Empire he built temples and filled them with his dark priests. Yearly he sacrificed thousands of infantsto increase his ever growing army of demons, but eventually, a hero emerged to put an end to his reign of terror. Some say he was the son of the Amethysts Empress, begotten on her by her secret lover and others say he was nothing more than a common man who lost his son to the Emperor's yearly rituals. Commoner or Prince, it was said that he forged the legendary blade that slew the Bloodstone Emperor. How he was able to forge such a powerful weapon is shrouded in mystery, but there are many stories, one bloodier than the next. Some say he tamed a dragon and forged the blade in dragon fire while others claim that he plunged the blade in his wife's heart. I doubt we will ever know the truth, but even the fall of the Bloodstone Emperor wasn't able to stop the breaking of the Empire of Dawn."

A long moment of silence passed, before one of the children dared break the silence. Even Jon had been captivated by the tale. There was something very familiar about it. The Great Darkness seemed to refer to the Long Night, though a few aspects of the tale left him confused. Old Nan's mentioned a similar hero, but this was the first time he heard about this Bloodstone Emperor.

"What happened to hero after the Bloodstone Emperor was defeated, grandmother?" one of the children asked.

Tito's mother shrugged.

"Nobody knows for sure, but some say he travelled over the sea because he believed that the Bloodstone Emperor wasn't vanquished after all. Some even say the Bloodstone Emperor still lingers in the world, vying for his revenge. As for the hero…the people in my homeland believe he will return when the need arises."

Disappointment showed on the girl's face and she opened her mouth to voice her protest, but chief Mallar decided to put an end to the gathering.

"I think it is time to for our dire rest," he declared and soon the great assembly dispersed, leaving only Dany, Aemon, Jon and Tito.

"I told you," Tito remarked and sipped bowl of milk. "My mother is a great storyteller."

"She is," Jon agreed, but was more interested to hear about Tito's report. "What did your brother say about the Dothraki threat?

Tito frowned and gritted his teeth.

"He intends to call for an assembly of the tribes."

"Does that mean there will be war?" Jon asked, fear washing over him.

Tito laughed.

"Don't make me laugh," Tito said and balled his fists. "The tribes won't go to war. They will ask him to close off the city gates and wait out until the enemy leaves. The last time our people dared to take arms again the Dothraki they butchered our armies and built a heap of corpses. This bloody memory never fails to install fear into my people's hearts. There will be no war. We will sit behind high walls while the rest of our people are enslaved."

…

 **Arya**

Drops of sweat rolled down her temples as she continued to practice her water dancing. Her Master Syrio was no longer here to train her, but she tried her best to continue her practice. Every few days she rode out to the Wolfswood hide away from her mother's watchful eyes. She may have lost her sword, but Bran and his new friends, the Reed siblings, were kind enough to steal a practice sword from Ser Roderik's stocks.

Again she slipped back into the first stance and hit the trunk an ironwood tree. It helped to imagine Joff's smug smile, but it wasn't enough to still her rage. Her Lord Father was still alive, but far away. For her it felt as if he died. Even her Lady Mother chose to wear black, though her Lord Father was still breathing.

When Arya was imprisoned in the King's Landing she wanted to nothing more than to go home, but now even her home felt foreign. Nothing was the same. Her Lady Mother grieved for her lost husband, Robb played the Lord, Bran spent most of his time with the Reed siblings and Rickon spent his time in company of the Frey boys. Yet Jon's disappearance hurt the most. Everything would be better if he was here.

"There you are little pest!" a familiar voice snapped her out of her practice.

It was Theon Greyjoy. The very sight of him darkened her mood only more.

"What do you want, stupid?" she asked him and turned around to look for Nymeria. Relief washed over her when she spotted her rolling in the mud not far from a crooked oak tree.

"Come here, Nym!" she called. Instantly, her wolf hopped to his feet and joined her side.

"Lady Stark wants you to join her and Lady Roslin," he informed her promptly.

Arya sighed. She could hardly refuse if her Lady Mother and Lady Roslin demanded her presence.

"I see," she replied and gave Theon a sharp look."Tell my Lady Mother about my training and I will inform her about you and Lady Roslin's handmaid. Is that understood, stupid?"

Theon frowned, obviously unhappy that she knew about his secret.

"Very well, little pest," he grumbled his agreement. "We have a deal…though I didn't think you could be this sneaky. You are worse than the bastard."

Arya didn't hesitate to kick him between the legs for his stupid remark.

"Call Jon a bastard and Nym will eat you!" she threatened.

"I meant it as a compliment," Theon countered quickly. "The sneaky bastard ran off with the prettiest whore I have ever laid eyes one. I didn't think he had it in him. Robb even sent men to bring him back, but I doubt he will agree. Why would anyone trade the Free Cities to a frozen place like the North?"

"Shut your bloody mouth!" Arya shouted. "Jon will come back! I know it!"

Angry, she left Theon and hid away her practice blade, before returning back to the castle. Back in her chambers she washed herself and put on a proper dress, before making her way to her Lady Mother's solar. There she found Lady Roslin in company of her Lady Mother and her two handmaids. One was called Amerei and the other Arwyn. Not long ago she saw Amerei coming out of Theon's chambers, her dress in disorder. Arwyn was the complete opposite. She was incredibly shy and barely able to speak to a man. Arya avoided both their presence. They never failed to remark upon her betrothal to _Elmar the Nosepicker_.

Lady Roslin was different. She was her brother's Lady and the future Lady of Winterfell. She was also very kind to Arya and often asked for her presence, though Arya held little interest in the girl's hobbies.

She was like Sansa. She liked stitching and singing, a fact that never failed to delight her Lady Mother. Her Lady Mother even asked Lady Roslin to teach Arya the harp. Arya agreed only, because she didn't want to displease her Lady Mother, though she showed little promise.

"There you are, Arya," her Lady Mother greeted as she entered the solar. She smiled when she saw her dress.

"Here I am, Lady Mother," she confirmed and dropped a quick curtsy. "Why did you call for me?"

"To share the happy news," Lady Roslin explained from her seat, placed near the warm hearth and flanked by her two ladies. "You are the only who doesn't know. I am expecting the heir to Winterfell."

 _Heir to Winterfell_ , Arya repeated to herself, realization washing over her.

It was quite the surprise, but then even Robb was born barely a year into her parents' marriage.

Arya stood frozen and took in Lady Roslin's slender form. She barely recalled her Lady mother's pregnancies, but looking at Lady Roslin it was hard to believe the she was expecting.

"Are you not happy?" Her Lady Mother asked gently. "Both Bran and Rickon were delighted."

"Of course," Arya confirmed and smiled. She meant it, though she didn't know what it meant to be an Aunt. "I am just surprised."

"Of course you are," her Lady Mother added gently and beckoned her to sit down next to her. For Arya it felt strange, because this place used to belong to Sansa. Stranger was even that her Lady Mother stopped to force the stitching lessons on her and allowed her to pursue other interests, like bow practice and the harp, though Arya only pretended to like it for Lady Roslin's sake. "It is a small piece of happiness in face of our loss."

With loss she meant their Lord Father and Sansa, but her Lady Mother always refrained from speaking their names as if it hurt her too much. Suddenly, all her anger was forgotten and she wanted to nothing more than to wash away her Lady Mother's sadness.

"Do you want to hear what I learned to play?" she asked her Lady Mother.

Happiness lightened up her features and she brushed Arya's hair out of her face.

"That would be lovely."

Lady Roslin seemed equally delighted and asked Lady Arwyn to fetch her high harp.

Moments later she returned and Arya took position. She exhaled deeply, trying to quell her excitement, before she started to play.

It was a simple song, but it proved harder than expected to hit the right notes. Now and then she missed the right sound, but it was better than expected.

"Very good!" Lady Roslin complimented her. "I can see…you practiced."

She did not, but neither Lady Roslin nor her Lady Mother did know that.

What counted were their smiles.

"That was very good," her Lady Mother complimented and kissed her cheek. "You are very talented. You have barely practiced for more than three moons…it took Sansa much longer to learn this song."

Arya's heart swelled with happiness, though she wished her Lady Mother would say the same about her bow practice.

"I thank you, Lady Mother," she replied and returned to her seat. The rest of the evening was spent inside. Her Lady Mother worked through the accounts and showed Lady Roslin everything she needed to know. Arya was kept company by Arywn Frey who helped her comb Nymeria's dirty hair. All in all, it was a pleasant evening, until she went to see Bran.

He looked pale and the smile he gave her barely reached his face. That she found him in company of the Reed siblings didn't surprise her. She quite liked Meera Reed, for she showed Arya how to use a frog spear, but her younger brother Jojen was simply weird. The way he behaved was reminiscent of an old man. She also didn't like that Bran spent so much time in the boy's company. Before his fall Arya, Bran and Jon were inseparable, but now she not only lost Jon, but also Bran.

"Arya," Bran said upon her entrance, a weak smile tugging on his lips. Summer lay next to him, his head resting on Bran's lap. "Your visit is a pleasant surprise."

"Theon found out about the sword," she replied quickly. "Don't tell our Lady Mother that it was my idea."

"My lips are sealed," Bran promised her and patted on the place next to him. "Is this the only reason you came to see me?"

"Of course not," she snapped and sat down. "I wanted to see you. Master Luwin told me that you have strange dreams that keep you awake."

"I have no common dreams…I have green dreams," Bran told her and smoothed his hand through Summers' soft fur.

"Green dreams," Arya repeated and tried ignore the staring of Jojen Reed."What does that mean?"

"It means I can see things…I can see the future," Bran whispered. "I tried to explain it to Maester Luwin, but he doesn't believe me."

Arya was stunned, but she was also sure that Bran wouldn't lie about something like that. He truly believed this, even if it sounded mad.

"What did you see?"

"Many things," he replied vaguely and paled. "I saw Jon."

"Truly?" Arya asked and tried to contain her anxiety. "Did you see where he went?"

Bran swallowed hard.

"He was on a battlefield…there were dead corpses everywhere. They were burned and rotten. Then I saw a city full of blood….and another city with red walls. I also saw father…he went beyond the Wall," he recounted his dreams, though it was hard for Arya to make sense of them.

"Maybe it was only a nightmare," she offered as a possible explanation, but Bran shook his head in disagreement.

"It was no nightmare, "Bran insisted stubbornly. "I can prove it…Master Luwin thinks that Lady Roslin will have a son, but I know that it will be a girl. I saw her in a bed of blood."

…


	10. Chapter 10

**Daenerys**

It took only the blink of a moment, before the sheep was devoured by Sonarys' blue flames. It was both a beautiful and terrifying sight. Dany knew how powerful dragons can become, but seeing their might with her own eyes was a different matter. Then, as quick as a snake the dragon snapped his head forward and tore a piece of meat out of the animal's body. The other two dragons followed suit, feasting on the blacked corpse as if it was the most delicious meal. This was their second sheep, but Dany had the feeling that this was only the beginning.

 _They will need more and more food._

"They are hungry," Jon remarked quietly, his dark eyes fixed on the dragons.

"Aye," she confirmed and rose to her feet. Jon remained seated and grasped her hand, a gentle smile playing on his lips. She was unable to pinpoint it, but there was something different about him these days. He was very quiet, more so than usual, always staring off in the distance as if his mind was somewhere else.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him and squeezed his hand.

"It is full moon," he said and pointed at the sky. A fat autumn moon hung over the dusky horizon, streaked in red and velvet.

"I can see that," she replied, a little confused by his statement. There was nothing special about it."What you trying to say?"

"I will tell you," he assured her with a smile. "But we should get going or they will close the gates before we return from our hunting adventure. "I trust that Lirla takes good care of Aemon, but I doubt you want to spend the night out in the wilderness."

Dany was both confused and amused by his secrecy.

"Then let us go," she replied and returned his smile.

Her answer seemed to please him greatly. Then he pulled her along towards his horse. They rode here together, though Dany knew by now how to properly handle her horse. Larsha took her for daily rides and Jon took her hunting whenever he had time to spare. She liked that, because out in the wilderness they could be alone. She liked Tito's family, but there was always someone there watching them. It was hard to find privacy.

Usually, it was her idea to go hunting, but today Jon asked her to join him. It warmed her heart to hear this, for she missed him every time he left to ride out with Tito's men. Especially, with the sighting of the Dothraki horde she worried for him. What Jon felt on this matter was like mystery to her. He was always courteous and helpful, but he hardly ever spoke with her about things that bother him. Reading his moods was just as difficult. He was not the kind of man who carried his feeling on his sleeves.

They rode for another hour, passing hills and plains of green and yellow pasture. Night had fallen when they arrived at a small wooden area. Dany had never dared to venture this far from the city, but Jon seemed completely at ease. Maybe it was Ghost's presence that assured him. He was now nearly as big as a horse. He could easily carry a dainty girl like her, though she doubted the wolf would appreciate it.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" he asked and climbed from the saddle. Dany was still confused, but it was true what he said. This piece of land was very beautiful. The woods were littered with rich green grass, old trees, bent and crooked, but beautiful in their own way. Especially, the red flowers strewn over the meadow gave the landscape the appearance of a colourful painting.

"Very beautiful," she agreed and felt a soft breeze touching her skin. A pair of butterflies hovered over the knee-high grass right above Ghost's head. The wolf seemed bothered by them and sniffed viciously. "But is this also a good place to hunt?

"I will show you," he told her and pulled his belongings from his saddle. He always had his sword and his hunting gear fixed on his saddle, though they hadn't even used it. First they went to feed the dragons and now they came here, but Dany saw no animals to hunt.

Quietly, he pulled her along through the grass towards the woods. The whispering of the wind could be heard as they stumbled over the underwood and foliage. The trees here looked ancient, some of their trunk as thick as a several men.

At last they stopped at some sort of a clearing. The beauty of it left her gasping for air. There was a massive tree, its bark pale like snow and its leaves painted in different colours of yellow and red. The moonlight falling through the tree tops gave the bark an appearance of ivory.

"I promised you a pretty tree, didn't I?" he asked her and smiled proudly.

Finally, she understood what he meant.

 _It should at least be a pretty tree_ , he had told her when they spoke about marriage. That was now nearly four moons ago and she thought he had forgotten about it.

 _I am a fool_ , she thought and squeezed his hand.

"You did," she confirmed and graced him with an amused smile. "Though it took you long enough."

He shrugged his shoulders and slung his arm around her shoulder.

"I kept watching out for the perfect tree and a week ago I finally found this one. This one looks a bit like a weirwood tree…the bark has a similar colour, though the leaves of a weirwood tree are much brighter. They also have a faces carved in the trunk."

"Truly?" she asked, fascinated. "Who carved the faces?"

"Old Nan used to tell us that it was the work of the Children of the Forest," he explained and beamed. He always lost his serious countenance whenever he spoke about his family and home, though it was a seldom enough that he spoke about his family. She met his brother Robb, but she couldn't bring herself to like him. She knew that he had four other siblings, but she only knew the name of his younger sister, the one that likes him. Arya she is called and she likes playing with swords. Dany asked him several times about his little sister, but whenever she did he grew sad and thus she decided to avoid it. She told herself that he would eventually tell her about it when he is comfortable enough. Thus hearing him speak about his home filled him with relief.

"That sounds interesting," she added softly and jerked her head at the tree. "But I doubt that is why you brought me here. Now that we finally found a tree…Is there some sort of ceremony?"

"There is," he confirmed and led her closer towards the tree. "Usually it is just an exchange of vows, though I don't recall the exact wording. The truth is…I have never attended a real wedding. My Lord Father never took his bastard to weddings," he explained. It was only subtle, but she heard the bitterness ringing through his facade. She hardly knew Lord Stark, but she couldn't help but to be angry on Jon's account whenever he spoke about his life as a bastard.

"Then we will do what you can remember. I don't need a ceremony or vows," she assured him and lifted his hand to her lips.

"We can make up vows if you don't recall them. Let me try…I swear before the gods and that this man is mine and I am his… from this day till the end of our days," she continued and blushed a little. "I am fond of poetry, but as you can see…I am no great poet either. What do you think of my vows?"

He chuckled and held her closer. "I like it. I swear before the gods that this woman is mine and I am hers. From this day, until the end of our days," he declared and leaned down to kiss her eagerly. It stirred up the familiar feeling of warmth between her legs, yet she also felt also a hint of fear.

It had been a long time that they had lain with each other, though that was her fault. She had told him that Aemon's birth made it uncomfortable for her. He accepted it, but it didn't help to ease her sense of guilt.

In truth, it was only half a lie. The first moons after her son's birth she had felt pain, but a moon ago the pain finally disappeared, but she feared having another child. Aemon was a mere babe. She wouldn't want to leave him motherless. She had few memories of her brother Viserys, but she recalled clearly how much their mother's death haunted him.

She had yet to tell Jon about Aemon's difficult birth, but she feared his reaction.

 _His mother died in childbirth_ , she recalled. _I can't burden him with this guilt._

"Daenerys," he addressed her in her full name and pulled away when he noticed that she had stopped moving. He sounded serious, the smile banished from his lips and his hand resting on her cheek. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," she assured him and smiled. "I was just thinking. Is there something else we forgot?"

He frowned, but answered nonetheless.

"Usually the bride and groom kneel beneath the weirwood tree to receive the blessing of the old gods, though that wouldn't make much sense here. This tree is not dedicated to the old gods," he explained and jerked his head at the tree."But I have something else for you. A gift."

"A gift?" she asked and it relieved her to see a smile on his lips. "For me?"

"Tito said it is common among his people to give each other gifts on their wedding day," Jon explained and let go of her hand. Then he made his way back to his horse and rummaged through his hunting gear. Only when he stepped into the moonlight was she able to make out what he had searched for.

"A bow," she said and marvelled at its beauty. It was made of a pale bark…like the tree. "Is it made from the same wood?"

"Exactly," he replied and held the bow out to her. "I thought it fitting."

Dany stared at him for a moment, speechless. He carried an expectant look, but she didn't know what to say. She trembled and stared at the bow and then back at Jon.

"I don't have a gift for you," she said, close to tears, though it were happy ones.

"Gods…don't cry," he remarked and frowned. "I didn't know that this would upset you…besides you already gave me a gift."

"I have?" she asked, a little confused by his answer. "What gift did I give you?"

"Our son," he replied and smiled warmly. "I never thought I have a son of my blood, but that is not the only gift. Without you I would be at the Wall, alone and forgotten. I never thought I would have a family…at least not like this."

Dany didn't know what to say. She could only stare at him in disbelief.

"I am your family?" she asked, searching his face.

"Of course you are," he assured her and brushed his hand through her locks. "Now take your gift. I am sure you will make good use of it."

"I will," she assured him in a trembling voice and took the bow from his hand. It was a slender thing, the wood soft and smooth like a polished sword. It was a far too precious gift and she touched like as if it was a precious jewel."I will."

As if cast in a dream she made her way back to the horse and placed the bow in the bag, containing her hunting gear.

Then she turned around and pulled off her cloak. Underneath she only wore her pale wool dress and her sandals.

He smiled at her as he moved closer, his hand wandering through her hair. It was now nearly as long as her chin, though she doubted he cared about that.

She leaned closer, her face tilting into is neck. He wrapped his arms around smoothed his hand over her shoulder.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Aye," she assured him and pulled back to kiss him, slow and gentle. His grip tightened on her shoulders as he deepened the kiss. Together they stumble to the ground, the grass soft, almost like a featherbed.

His body sinks on top of her as they continued to kiss, his thigh sliding between her legs. The familiar feeling of warmth stirred inside her.

Carefully, he opened the buttons of her dress and pulled it aside. He kissed her breasts, before moving lower. His warmth breath tickled her stomach, only to move further down.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, confused by his actions. "Are you trying to find out if I am ticklish?"

He chuckled, his face half lit by the moonlight.

"Just an idea," he added and pushed up her dress. The touch of the night air felt cold on her skin.

He laughed again, his breath tickling the inside of her thighs. "Have a bit of patience."

"Patience…," she muttered, her words swallowed by gasp. The soft touch of his mouth was a foreign sensation that overwhelmed her. It made her shut her eyes close as the current of pleasure washed over her. They had thought her how to pleasure man that way, but she never knew that it could be done the other way around.

"Jon," she called out too him when it was too much and grasped his hair, pulling hard. Yet he didn't stop, or maybe he didn't hear her. Maybe her voice died in her mouth. It was almost too much, the warm sensation overwhelming, as the wave of pleasure came crushing down on her.

She was still struggling for breath when Jon lifted his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were dark, glinting like the coals in a brazier.

"Who thought you that?" she asked, both curious and stunned.

"No one," he replied, his voice lith with amusement. "I just wanted to kiss you there. Did you like it?"

It was such a silly question, she couldn't help but to laugh.

"Of course I liked it…it is just…they thought us such things in the place I grew up…it is strange having a man do it," she tried to explain her thoughts and slipped her hand downwards to touch him.

He gasped, then laughed against her cheek.

"Well, I suppose that is a compliment," he remarked slightly sardonically, though she knew it was meant in a joking manner.

"I meant it," she replied and gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. He laughed and she silenced him with a kiss. He returned her kiss and he allowed her to sit on top of him.

She felt no pain as she mounted him. It felt right and she savored the sensation. Yet it was the warmth in his eyes that unraveled her. She knew then that his words were not empty talk. He meant it when he said that she is part of his family. His smile was never this soft as he sat up and held her in his arms.

Even after he had collapsed next to her she still felt his hands stroking through her hair, though he was half asleep. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but whenever she opened her mouth she was unable to find the right words. Where she came from people don't speak about their wishes or the future. They only think of the next day.

"Jon," she asked him. "Tell me about your home."

Jon lifted his head, surprise apparent on his face.

"What brought this on?"

"Nothing," she assured him quietly. "I should know about your family. Maybe we will go back there one day."

He beamed.

"You think that is possible?"

His question surprised her. He sounded almost like a little boy and she wanted to give him a happy lie, but that wouldn't serve them.

"Yes," she answered and averted her gaze. "But it would be hard to accomplish. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

Instantly, his face changed back to its usual solemn expression.

"The dragons would never be tolerated in the North," he told her and kissed her brow."But I am not Aegon the Conqueror nor do I want to be. I don't want to drench the Seven Kingdoms in blood just to win a crown that doesn't belong to me. I would have to fight my own brother and Uncle. I can't do that."

"I never asked that of you," she replied quietly. "But the dragons will continue to grow. There will be people who will try to take them away."

"True," he agreed unhappily. "And that is why we need to learn to control them. I said I don't want to be Aegon the Conqueror, but that doesn't mean we can't fight those who want to harm us."

"Us?" she asked, his words alarming. "What do you mean?"

"I am talking about the Dothraki," he told her, his voice taking an almost icy tone. "You have not seen what they do. I will not sit idle while they rape and murder people who have shown us nothing but kindness."

"The dragons are small," she countered fearfully. "Arrows could hurt them and even I know that the Dothraki are terrifying bowmen."

"True," he said and shrugged his shoulders. "But the Dothraki are also hot-headed. We could lure them into a trap."

She frowned. She had never seen a real battle. Yet she didn't want to appear a craven.

 _I am the blood of the dragon._

"And you think we could really win?"

"Maybe," he answered. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "Though the dragons wouldn't be enough. I would need the help of Lhazareen warriors, but Tito thinks that the tribes won' fight. Besides, why should they trust a foreigner?"

She could only nod her head in agreement. She lived it every day. The other women were kind to her, but she will always be an outsider. So much is clear.

 _Maybe that is why Jon longs for Winterfell._

"Jon," she said at last and intent to returned to. "Tell me about Winterfell…tell me about your home."

A brief moment of silence passed, but then he nodded his head.

"What do you want to know?"

She pondered his question and pursed her lips.

"Tell me about Arya."

 **...**

She woke when the first sunlight fell through the slanted windows. Jon was still asleep, his warm body nestled beside her. Carefully, she rose from her bed and pulled on a robe.

Quietly, she made her way to Aemon's crib and found him still asleep. It was no surprise. He hardly ever woke before the sun had risen to the sky. It would be no problem to slip away for an hour and Jon knew how to feed him with sheep milk.

Out on the corridor she met several of Tito's relatives. She greeted them and made her way up the curling staircase.

Upon her entrance she found Tito's mother at work, squashing leaves with a pestle. She was also devoid of her usual pale robes and garbed in a green dress. The front was covered with old stains of blood and other substances she was unable to identify. It was not the first time that she came here, but her collection of books, herbs and other strange utensils never failed to fascinate her.

When Tito told her that his mother is some sort of a midwife she expected one of these women who came to Lady Meema's brothel, but it was clear to her that Tito's mother was more than a common midwife. Never once did she see a midwife keeping notes on her patients or able to mix complicated potions like this. Whoever thought her must have been a professional one, like one of the Maesters Jon told her about.

"There you are, child," she greeted her and graced her with a smile.

"I have your potion over here," she added and rose to her feet, before making her way to a small table filled with all kinds of bottles. They were marked with foreign signs of black ink.

"This one is yours," Tito's mother remarked and handed her a blue bottle. When she first came here she expected to get something bitter like moon tea, but the teas she received from Tito's mother tasted almost like common tea. She felt the urge to ask her more questions. She knew next to nothing about her body besides what other girls told her.

"Is something wrong, child?" Tito's mother asked, worry written all over her face. "You look pale. Was the last tea too strong?"

"No," she assured her quickly, trying to overplay her insecurity. Then she bit her lips, torn between baring her fears to her. She was a woman, if anyone would understand her it would be someone as kind as her. "I just wondered…you know much about childbirth, don't you?"

She gave her an amused smile.

"I brought more than thousand children into the world," she replied, though not pridefully."I think I know what I am doing, child. Do you want me to take a look at you?"

Dany didn't know why, but she felt a little embarrassed.

"Look at me?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "I assume the birth of your boy wasn't the most pleasant experience?"

Dany was stunned.

"How can you tell?"

"Your hips," she replied as if it was all too clear. "You are rather young. How old are you?"

"Nearly ten and five," she answered. "What do my hips have to do with my age?"

"You are still growing," she explained and patted on a cushioned seat on the floor. "Some bodies need longer to be prepared for the trials of childbirth, though some stubborn husbands do not understand that."

Dany settled down cushioned seat, but felt the need to defend Jon.

"He didn't force me into anything…I wanted Aemon…I just didn't know that it would be this painful," she explained honestly.

"All births are painful," Tito's mother explained. "But there is a difference between painful and deadly," she continued to explain and pulled up her dress. Gently, she spread her legs and inspected her closely. Dany tried not to wince, but soon she forgot about her discomfort.

"Did you bleed?" Tito's mother asked and lifted her head to meet her gaze.

"Aye, quite a lot," she confirmed anxiously.

"I see," she replied and patted her knee. "I am surprised you are still alive. It is as I thought. Your hips are yet too small."

"Yet?"

"Don't fret, child," Tito's mother assured her and pulled the dress back down. "You are completely healthy, but I would advise having another child in the next two years. By then you should be grown enough. And my tea has yet to fail me."

Dany nodded her head in understanding.

"How do you know all this?"

Tito's mother laughed and made her way to the hearth. She picked the pot of steaming water from the fire and filled it into two cups placed on a nearby table. Then she rose on her tiptoes and picked a handful of herbs from the bundle hanging above her head. She smashed the herbs between her hands and put them into the tea.

Then she settled down in front of Dany and handed her a cup.

The tea smelled like perfume, a mixture of lavender and something earthy.

"You are a curious child," she remarked and sipped from her tea. "No wonder Tito likes you and your husband."

"As to your question," she added and placed the cup on the ground beneath her feet."My Father was a _bó shì_ …a doctor at court…a healer. That is how I learned."

"Court?" Dany asked. "I don't know much about Yi Ti…You have an Emperor if I am not mistaken?"

"The God-Emperor," she said. "But don't be mistaken…it is not an emtpy title. They do actually think him a god. It is a ridiculous notion…as he is mortal like any other human being. My Father used to treat his bowel problems. I doubt a god would have problems emptying his bowels."

"You don't seem to like him very much," Dany remarked and couldn't help but to chuckle. She tried to imagine a god, being planted to his pot all day long. It was a ridiculous thought and she quickly brushed it away. "And I wonder…How did you end up here if your father held such an important position?"

A bitter smile showed on her lips, but she answered nonetheless.

"My Father was not only a _bó shi_ but also a _tài jiàn_ …an eunuch…a man without a cock…he started out serving the God-Emperor's many wives. No man with a cock is allowed in their presence…the same goes for doctors."

"But how…," she countered, but Tito's mother was quicker.

"My mother was called Lady Sun…she was the daughter of the third Prince, but my father was a lowly court official. Both perished young and I was adopted by my Father who carried the surname Zhu. My full name is Zhu Yingtai…a silly name given to me by my sentimental father. He named me after the tragic heroine of his favorite tale, though he later claimed it was because I had a similar thirst of knowledge like her. Well, my Father was a well-respected man, but fell victim to a court intrigue. They executed him and I was sold into servitude…I rather not tell you the detail about these trials. Eventually, I escaped and came here. The people mistrusted me at first, but Tito's father was much like my son, very curious...I think you you can imagine the rest of the tale."

"I think I can," Dany replied. "I think I understand better than you know."

She gave her a sad smile.

"You are lucky you know," she added and rose back to her feet. "I didn't love Tito's father…I married him because I had to survive. He liked me and so I played along. You can choose your path. I envy you a little, though I love my family and my husband was good to me. Tito told me that you are Princess…my mother was disinherited for marrying a lowly court official."

"Jon is no commoner," she corrected her. "He is a Prince…at least that is the way I see it. He is my brother's son…who was once meant to be a King, even though he was the son of his second wife."

Understanding washed over her face.

"Don't tell that to the others…they would think it strange for relatives to be wed. It doesn't bother me, because my relatives are similar, especially the nobles. The God Emperor's head wife is his half-sister."

"I won't," she assured her and straightening her dress.

"I wonder," Tito's mother remarked. "Now that you have dragons…Will you try retaking the throne that your family lost?"

"Jon says he is no Aegon the Conqueror…he doesn't want to drench the Seven Kingdoms in blood," she recounted his words to her. "I think he just doesn't' want to use the dragons for revenge, though he thinks we should use them to fight the Dothraki."

Curiosity showed on the other woman's face.

"Fight the Dothraki?"

"Aye," she confirmed proudly. "Jon thinks we could lure the Dothraki in a trap."

"A trap," Tito's mother mused."You seem to have a lot of confidence him him, don't you?"

"I do, even if others don't," she replied confidently and picked the bottle from the table.

Then she stopped and gave her a last smile.

"I thank you, for your efforts. I will heed your advice."

…

 **Margaery**

Maegaery didn't know how long she stood there watching over Renly's body. At times she thought he would wake up again and give her one of his charming smiles. Then he would don his crown and they would repay Stannis for his vile murder.

Granted, she had no proof that it was Stannis, but she was there when Renly was slain. Whatever dark sorcery conjured this shadow that slew her husband and King, it carried Stannis Baratheon's face.

Yet even Loras, who was grieving Renly, refused to believe her. He even wanted to execute Lady Brienne. Only Margaerys' word kept him from doing something hasty.

 _Poor brother._ _Your love for Renly was true and now you suffered the greatest loss._

Margaery was fond of Renly, but she always knew that he didn't desire her. He treated her like a sister and nothing more. Even when she offered to invite her brother in their bed did he refuse her attentions. Back then she felt insulted, but now she understood that this just showed what a good person her late husband was. He was always true to himself, even though he was sometimes behaved like a child.

They shouldn't have celebrated one tourney after another, but her husband wanted to ascend to the crown in glory.

 _The Knights of Summer know nothing of war_ , her Lady Grandmother had told her on her wedding day. It was true. Her brother Loras was a gallant and a valiant fighter, but he never saw true war. He thinks it is like in the songs, full of glory and valiant deeds. Now he had experienced the first touch of war. Maegaery did as well, though less so than her sweet brother.

"Your Grace," a shy voice snapped her out of her thoughts. It was Lady Brienne of Tarth. Not long ago she asked the Lady to become her sworn sword. Loras raged with anger, but Margaery trusted the Lady to keep her safe.

Margaery turned around and graced the Lady Knight with a sweet smile.

"Please don't call me your Grace," she corrected her kindly. "I am no longer Queen. My husband is dead and I don't carry his son."

"Your Grace…," Lady Brienne corrected, but Margaery's smile cut her off.

"What brings you here?"

"Your Lady Grandmother calls for your presence. An envoy has arrived…from King's Landing."

 _An envoy from King's Landing_ , she thought and felt a hint of apprehension washing over her. This was a surprise, but not completely unexpected. They might be traitors, but Tywin Lannister has few allies. Yet Margaery learned enough from her Lady Grandmother to know that Tywin Lannister cannot be trusted.

 _He intends to make use of my Lord Father's desperation_ , she was sure. _If Stannis is allowed to ascend the throne he will depose House Tyrell and place his Florent relatives in charge of the Reach. Tywin must know this._

"Very well," Margaery replied and turned around, joining Lady Brienne at the entrance of the tent. "Let us speak to this envoy."

When she entered the tent she found her Lady Grandmother speaking to a stranger. He was garbed in a black travelling cloak, a silver mocking bird fastened at his chest.

He bowed low and smiled. It was a sly smile, not quite reaching his face.

"Your Grace," he cooed sweetly. "The tales about your beauty weren't embellished."

 _Empty flattery_ , she knew and put her mask in place.

She giggled portraying the flattered maiden.

"I thank you," she replied sweetly and lowered her head. "You have yet to state your name, my Lord?"

"I am Petyr Baelish…Master of Coin," he declared proudly. I am also here to speak in the name of the King. He wishes to make you his Queen."

Margaery was surprised by this blunt offer, though she did her best to hide it.

"I generous offer," she replied at last when she felt her Lady Grandmother's eyes burning into her back. "But I assume Lord Tywi…no the King expects something in return. We are after all traitors who questioned the King's legitimacy."

Petyr Baelish's smile betrayed nothing.

"The King 's good-will is known far and wide. He is prepared to forgive House Tyrell if you are prepared to fight his enemies, namely Stannis Baratheon."

"Very kind of him," her Lady Grandmother remarked more directly. "But isn't your gracious King pledged to wed Sansa Stark? What will her brother do once he hears about this?"

"Sansa Stark's father is a known traitor and an allegiance with the North is not comparable with an allegiance to the Reach. Sansa Stark has nothing to offer. The King intends her to find her a proper match in time. As for her brother…the King will not make his true intentions known until Stannis Baratheon is vanquished. Once Stannis is defeated Robb Stark will have no one to rally around. I doubt he will find a cause to stage another rebellion."

"And what guarantees us that your King will keep his word?" her Lady Grandmother asked, not backing down from her position.

Lord Baelish smile disappeared, his eyes taking an almost threatening glint.

"You are acting as if you are in a position to make demands, my Lady. The Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister guards the city against the approaching enemy. He will win this struggle…he has no need of the Reach to win this war. What he offers is not an allegiance, but a way to redeem yourself and show your loyalty to the true King."

 _True King_ , Margaery mused, losing herself to distracting thoughts. _Who is the true King?_ Renly thought himself better equipped than Stannis, but often acted as if wearing a crown is a child's game. Stannis thinks himself the rightful King, because he is the older brother and because he can point back at King Robert's claim. Robert Baratheon defeated Prince Rhaegar, but in the end it was his Targaryen blood that gave him his crown.

 _And now a Lannister bastard occupies Iron Throne. How the game can change._

Not that it would matter to her Lord Father. She loved him with all her heart, but she always knew that his ambitions stand above her own feelings.

 _He would marry me to a fool in a motely if it would bring me a crown._

"Granddaughter," her Lady Grandmother called her back to the present. "We are waiting for your answer."

She wanted to curse herself for allowing her mask to slip. It seemed Renly's death rattled her more than she wanted to admit.

She brushed those thoughts away and put on her mask.

"I would be honored to be his Grace's Queen," she replied and dipped her head.

…


	11. The Assembly

**Jon**

"What are you doing? " Dany asked Jon and Tito, who sat on the carpet. Aemon sat not far from Jon and was gnawing on a wooden toy. It was a carved dragon Jon made for him not long ago, which was also quite noticeable. The carving look unrefined, but he doubted his son minded. He seemed to like the wooden dragon, given how often he was nibbling on it.

"Why are you two playing with Aemon's toys?" she continued to ask after she spotted the rest of Aemon's toys arranged on the carpet.

Jon shrugged his shoulders and graced Dany with a warm smile.

"We are not playing with Aemon's toys…Tito and I were just trying to visualizing a way to fight against the Dothraki. Aemon's toys are a great help," he explained.

"These are the Dothraki," he added and pointed at the two carved horses in front of Tito. Then he leaned back and pointed at the soldiers placed before Jon's knees and at the flanks of the battlefield."And these are our men."

Dany wrinkled her brows and shook her head in disbelief.

"And what use are the twigs placed in front of our men?" she asked and jerked her head at the two pieces of wood placed before the men in front of Jon's knees.

"A ditch," Tito explained and leaned back on his hands. "Jon's thinks we should dig a ditch and lure the Dothraki there to trap them".

Surprise showed on her face.

"And how do you intend to lure the Dothraki there?" she asked and pointed at the ditch. "I know they are hot-headed, but I doubt they are stupid."

"True," Jon agreed. "But I have an idea that could solve this problem. Do you recall the fog that covers the plains and valleys before sunset?

Realization washed over her face.

"The fog would hide your trap," she surmised, but there was still a hint of discontent visible on her face. She looked even more beautiful like this: her amethyst eyes narrowed in concentration and her pink lips pursed as she pondered over their plan. "But how do you intend to lure them there?"

"That would be my task," Tito explained proudly."I have scouted the landscape for an appropriate battlefield. I know the land better than anyone. It would be no problem for me to lure them there. I did this before in our campaign in Qohor."

"I see," Dany replied and pointed at the men placed at the flanks. "You told me that the Dothraki attack in waves and that a khalasar can have up to thousand riders. How can you prevent them from simply overcoming your flanks and avoiding the ditch in front?"

"Well, the ditch is supposed to look more like a half-moon and will be dug between two hills. We could even use the earth to built the hills ourselves," Jon explained and broke one of the twigs to place the two pieces at the flanks. It didn't look like a half-moon, but he was sure that Dany had enough imagination to understand what he meant. "The flanks would also be protected by a shield wall and archers. We could also put up stakes to keep the enemy at bay."

"I see," Dany replied and moved closer, kneeling down beside Aemon. His son eyed them each with wide grey-purple eyes. Jon could only imagine what he was thinking.

 _What are these stupid grown-ups doing with my precious toys?_

"And how do you intend to employ the dragons?" she asked curiously.

"Simple… the dragon's task would be to burn the trapped Dothraki," he explained and picked one of the dragon figurines from the stack of toys placed next to Aemon. The second dragon was still in Aegon's mouth.

"Like this," Jon showed her and smashed the dragon into the Dothraki riders. Aemon followed suit and threw his own dragon on their own men. He gurgled happily and Jon patted his curly head. "Good work, but next time you should attack the enemy."

"They have arrows," Dany countered quietly. "The Dothraki could shoot the dragons from the sky and I doubt their flames are yet strong enough to burn all these warrior. They could still overwhelm our flanks or retreat."

"I doubt the Dothraki would have time for that," Tito added more seriously."Jon suggested to fill the ditch with oil. The harvest of the _firegrass_ was plentiful. All we would need is a few gallons and we could fill both the ditch and drench the battlefield. The rest would be left to the dragonfire."

Dany shuddered and fell silent. At first he thought she was simply disgusted by their plan, but when she started to draw invisible lines behind the Dothraki warriors he knew she was merely pondering over their battle plan.

"You should have the dragons attack the rear once the brunt of the Dothraki force has entered the battlefield. Then they would be really trapped…in a ring of fire."

"A pit of fire," Tito added sardonically, a smile spreading over his lips. "The only appropriate place for this bastards. Hell on earth."

Jon didn't add anything to Tito's words. He held no love for the Dothraki, but he was only considering this plan, because it would be the only way to win. Tito told him that the Lhazareen would be able to muster around seven-thousand men-at-arms, by far not enough to fight a horde of Dothraki, but the use of the dragons shift the balance in their favour. Not that his plan would ever be accepted by the assembly, but it was a nice way to occupy one's mind.

"And you intend to present this plan on the assembly?" Dany asked expectantly.

Jon shrugged his shoulders.

"I doubt they would listen," he replied his gaze flickering to Tito. His friend nodded his agreement.

"My brother is very eager to fight, but the chiefs of Hesh and Kosrak are not like my brother. The chief of Hesh is a landowner and the chief of Kosrak is a former merchant. They prefer to stay on the safe side."

"I see," Dany replied and graced Tito with a smile. "Will you stay for supper?"

Tito shook his head, despite the smile playing on his lips.

"My sister invited me to take supper with her children," he explained and rose to his feet. "Another time."

"Another time," Jon added and started to put away the toys. Aemon didn't approve and started to wail. Jon let go of his task and picked him up. This never failed to calm his Aemon.

"All this work you and Tito put into this…it is a shame that nothing will come of it," Dany remarked and pulled the pot from the cookfire. A pleasant smell filled Jon's nostrils and he went to retrieve the bowls while carrying Aemon on the other arm.

"Here," he said and placed them on the ground next to Dany. "But you are right. It is a shame. Tito hopes he will be allowed to speak before the assembly."

"Knowing Tito he might even convince these stubborn chiefs," Dany replied and filled the bowls.

"True," Jon replied and placed Aemon back on the carpet next to him. Then he picked the dragon from the heap of toys and handed it back to him. He smiled and started to gnaw again. Smelling the food, Ghost came to join them and placed himself on the carpet, probably hoping to get the leftovers, though he had already received a good amount of meat. "But I doubt even Tito's charm would be enough. The way he speaks about the chiefs makes them appear very…very stubborn. Well, whatever it is worth. I liked your idea," he added and started to eat. It was rabbit stew spiced with the sharp fruits the Lhazareen liked to put into their food.

"My idea?" she asked, slightly confused.

"To attack the Dothraki from the rear," he explained."I didn't think of that."

She beamed and broke the bread.

"Speaking of battle plans," she added amusedly. "You said that you have too few men…I would also employ the women. Almost all of them know how to use a bow."

"A short-range bow," Jon corrected her, but her idea was not without merit. Shooting burning arrows on the enemy wouldn't be hard to do and placed at the flanks even the arrows with the shorter range would be able to reach their enemy. "But you are right. More men are always good…or better said more archers. Yet I doubt that the men would like to see their women fight against a Dothraki horde."

Dany frowned at that and dipped the bread in the stew. She chewed quietly, before continuing to speak.

"Aren't the women the ones who suffer the most when the Dothraki capture them? The men may get chained, but the women get raped. Do they not deserve revenge for all the woe instilled on them by the hands of the Dothraki?"

"Of course, they do," Jon assured her, even if wouldn't want her to Dany was stubborn and Jon would need her help to control the dragons. Besides, Arya would wash his ears if she ever heard Jon speak like this.

...

 **Daenerys**

They placed three wooden chairs in the middle of the large courtyard, elevated above a hundred cushioned seats. The elevated seats belonged to the chiefs of the three major cities and the cushioned seats to the chiefs representing the smaller towns and hamlets. Above the wooden seats hung the banner of each of the three cities. The banner of Lhazosh showed a white sheep on a green background. The banner of Hesh showed a gallon of wheat and a vine of grapes. The banner of Kosrak showed a herd of black sheep on a white background.

As outsiders Dany and Jon would have usually been seated at the outer ranks, but Tito insisted they be seated next to him.

Thus Dany had a good view on the men that assembled here in Lhazosh. Chief Mallor headed the event and was garbed in his leather armour, a white pelt thrown over his shoulders. Below his feet rested his shield and spear. The chief of Kosrak was less impressive than Tito's brother. He was big-bellied man who looked probably never saw a battlefield. The Chief of Hesh was thin like a reed and marked by age. Among the lower-ranked chiefs she found younger men, some of them carrying scars.

Chief Mallor tapped his spear on the ground to get the attention of the whispering crowd. At once they stopped and silence reigned.

A weary smile showed on Chief Mallor's face as he addressed the two other chiefs in a friendly, but also formal tone.

"Be welcome here, brothers. I am thankful that you all came here. More than a week ago my men a Dothraki horde was sighted. This means it will only be a matter of time, before the first town falls prey to the plundering horde. I know your hearts are stricken by fear, but the attacks are constantly increasing. The Dothraki are like dogs. They smell our fear and they think us weak. We need to take up our spears to show them that we are not sheep waiting for slaughter. Only then will they stop their vicious attacks."

The younger chiefs cheered, but the elderly men muttered and carried disapproving looks.

"They don't look very enthusiastic," Jon remarked quietly.

"No," she agreed quietly and squeezed his hand. "They don't."

Now the Chief of Kosrak spoke.

"Your words are daring, but I have no interest to sacrifice my men unnecessarily. How many Dothraki were sighted?"

"A horde of thirty-thousand…meaning around fifteen-thousand riders," Chief Mallor recounted what Tito had told her only a few hours ago. "We could muster around seven-thousand men if we band together. If we fight cleverly we could…," he continued, but the coughing of the Chief of Hesh interrupted his speech. This earned the man snorts from Chief Mallor's supporters.

He carried himself with the arrogance of a man that thought himself above the other men in the assembly.

"Why should we waste our men in another useless battle when we have our city walls to protect us against the enemy? The Dothraki barbarians will never be able to overcome our walls."

His supporters clapped, but Chief Mallor's dark gaze told her everything she needed to know. There was no good blood between these two men.

"Sadly, not all of Lhazar can be hidden away behind high walls, oh revered Chief!" mocked Chief Mallar."And the day might come when the Dothraki shed their past ways and learn how to overcome our walls. But it is no surprise. You are old and you will probably never see this day."

"You dare!" the old man snapped, but the young man seated at his side took his arm and whispered something in his ear. He had a similar sharp face. Dany believed him to be his son, though he lacked the soft body of his father. He was strongly-built and carried the scars of a warrior.

"I am only speaking the truth!" Chief Mallor shouted and tapped his spear on the ground as if the emphasis his point. "Our fields will be burned, our wives will be raped and our people will be sold into slavery while we sit behind high walls. You speak so highly and consider yourself above the barbaric Dothraki, but you don't want to lift a single finger to protect our people. I call that craven."

"Enough!" the young man, who had calmed the old Chief of Hesh, shouted. "My Father is still the revered Chief. You speak out of turn, Chief Mallor. My father was merely pointing out that such a fight would be a wasteful endeavour. His caution has nothing to do with cowardice. I know the strength of the Dothraki, but even I do not think we are able to win such a battle."

"I agree with young Jamshid," the Chief of Kosrak added and leaned back in his chair. "Such a fight would serve no purpose. Kosrak brought in the majority of its harvest. The barbarians can try to steal it from behind our walls."

"No purpose," Chief Mallor muttered angrily. "And this coming from a man who never held a spear in his hand. Well, Lhazosh and _even Hesh_ have yet to bring in the harvest. I would fight alone if I had the men to do so."

"Do it then," the Chief of Hesh added smugly. "I am sure your forefathers will greet you in the next world for your valour, Chief Mallor. But please leave us out of this madness."

"Madness," someone repeated anda interrupted their exchange. Dany was not surprised that Tito's mother dared to interrupt the man.

 _She promised to consider it._

"Why is protecting one's people madness? Or are the walls of Hesh enough to protect all your people from the approaching enemy? Did you not swear on the Great Shepherd to guard your people like your own children? Or did you forget the vow you gave when you ascended to your position upon your father's death twenty years ago. You might not, but I do."

"Why does the woman speak?" he Chief of Hesh asked and acted as if he hadn't even heard Tito's mother.

"The woman is my late father's wife," Chief Mallor snapped. "And you will show her the respect she deserves or I will cut out your tongue!"

"Do it then," the elderly man taunted, but it was again Young Jamshids' intervention that ended the impending fight.

"Father," Young Jamshid said and patted his shoulder. "Allow her to speak."

"Very well," the man grumbled. "Speak then and I will try to listen."

Tito's mother smiled and turned to look at Dany.

Dany knew that this might happen, but she felt as if all air had been drained out of her body when as everyone started to look at her.

"Some of you might have heard about the foreigners residing in our city," Tito's mother explained and jerked her head at Dany and Jon."And their dragons. Jon of Winterfell offered to employ them in our favour."

Deadly silence reigned as their eyes burned into Dany's. Jon looked confused, which was no surprise. Dany doubted he understood all they had said.

"Tito's mother told them that we are prepared to employ our dragons in their favour," she translated.

His eyes widened in surprise, understanding washing over his features. She had told him about her talk with Tito's mother, but she gave no promise.

I will think about it, she had told Dany only yesterday.

"I see," Jon said and straightened himself.

"It is true…we have dragons…and we intend to fight at your side," Jon said in broken Lhazareen that earned him amused laughter from the younger children.

"We saw these dragons," the Chief of Hesh remarked. He sounded unimpressed. "They are not bigger than horses. How can they kill fifteen-thousand Dothraki screamers without getting pierced by their arrows?"

Dany frowned at that and decided to go for a more blunt approach. Only an hour ago saw Rhaegon and Sonarys circling over the city gates. They should hear well enough.

"Let me show you!" she declared and cleared her throat.

"Ñuha riñar! aōha muña brōzas syt ao!" she exclaimed once, twice and a third time.

Jon stared at her, but she was sure that he understood what she said. He was getting better at High Valyrian, though he liked to downplay his achievements.

After the third time the sound of wings drowned out the muttering of the crowd. First came Rhaegon, his wings as dark as the night, as he descended on the deserted part of the courtyard. Sonarys followed suit and landed not far away, his eyes fixed on Jon, as if expecting his command. Viserion came at last, his silver-streaked wings glimmering in the sunlight.

Silence reigned.

"You are right. The dragons cannot burn fifteen-thousand men alone," Tito added his voice. "But together we may be able to give the Dothraki horde a defeat they will never forget. Then they will finally understand that the Lhazareen are not as weak as they think."

All were stunned, especially the Chief of Kosrak, who was trembling like a leaf. Only the Chief of Hesh continued to sneer in distrust while Chief Mallor smiled.

 _Did he know about their plans?_

"Then show us what your dragons can do, little girl," he taunted, his dark eyes fixed on his.

Dany was tempted to fulfil his promise, but Young Jamshid was again the voice of reason.

"I don't think a demonstration is necessary, but I have to agree with my father's scepticism. I doubt your dragons can take up a horde of Dothraki. Their arrows are deadly," he said in broken Bastard Valyrian, his eyes fixed on Dany.

Then Jon rose to his feet and met the young man's gaze.

"True," Jon agreed. "But not if we are able to use the dragons to our full advantage," he added and turned to look first at Tito and then at Chief Mallor. "I have a plan…I don't expect you to agree, but at least let me explain."

"This is preposterous!" the Chief of Hesh snapped, but Young Jamshid raised his hand and winked at his father. Surprisingly, the man obeyed.

"I lead our man-at-arms. I want to hear him speak," Young Jamshid declared and turned to look at Chief Mellor."What do you say, Chief?"

A heavy moment of silence followed before Chief Mellor spoke, a seldom smile playing on his lips.

"We will hear Jon of Winterfell."

…

 **Ser Barristan**

For three days he had wandered through Braavos without rest. He asked every sailor, every peddler and every whore if they had heard something about dragons. Yet half of them didn't either understand him or thought him mad.

He wanted to curse the Spider, yet he was still a man of the Kingsguard and desperation was driving him onwards.

 _But I am in dire need of rest_ , he knew and felt the weariness in his old bones.

A night of rest should help, he thought and made his way back to _Ragman's Port._ Whores winked at him as he passed, peddlers sold their oysters and a little girl pointed at his white beard.

Brothels and taverns lined the long cobbled street, the smell of fish and salt his constant companion.

Barristan didn't want to waste much coin and decided to rent a room in the brothel _Happy Port_. Naturally, the girls came swarming around him like a swarm of butterflies. Most of them could be his granddaughters, but that never kept whores from seeking out customers.

Tired, he settled on a table not far from the hearth. It had rained all morning and he was drenched from head to toe.

For a piece of coin of the girls brought him a bowl of soup and bread. She was a pretty girl, golden-haired and green-eyed, though it bothered him when she started to ask him questions.

Soon he also knew her name. _Irina._

Maybe I should ask her. The other whores knew nothing of dragons, but it is worth a try.

"Say," he addressed the girl and graced her with a grand-fatherly smile. "Did you hear the rumours about the dragons?"

Surprisingly, the girl started to smile and nodded her head in confirmation.

"I did," she said and took a sip from her cup of wine. "But I have yet to see a dragon. Did you come here to find them?"

"Maybe," Barristan replied vaguely and shrugged his shoulders. "Where did you hear about the dragons? Any piece of information will earn you another piece of coin."

The girl laughed, her voice soft like the sound of bells.

"There is a girl serving in the Temple of Light. She told my sister that she was there when the dragons were born. She said that a girl laid dragon eggs into a pyre and stepped inside."

Barristan frowned at that. They say King Aegon the Unlikely tried to hatch dragons and burned down Summerhall. This story sounded just as mad, but it was better than nothing.

"Where can I find the girl who told you this wondrous tale?"

"She comes here almost every night to preach to the whores," she answered. "You could go to the Temple of Light or wait here. I am sure she will come. The other brothel owners don't tolerate priests in their halls, but our Mistress is different. The girl's mother was a good friend of her."

Barristan nodded his head and sighed deeply. _What do I have to lose?_

"I will heed your advice," he told the girl and sent her on her way. Then he finished his meal and returned to his room.

He slept for an hour before he returned to watch the coming and going of the guests. His time as a member of the Kingsguard should have thought him patience, but it was harder than expected.

Truly, Watching the coming and going of the guests was the only occupation he could find. It was no surprised that so many tongues mixed here at Happy Port. Men from all over Essos came here to enjoy the presence of the pretty whores, yet he found no Westerosi.

 _They prefer the better brothels_ , one of the girls had explained to him after striking up another conversation.

Thus when he spotted a man speaking in a strong northern accent he was rather surprised. When he spotted a merman embellished on his vest and cloak he was even more surprised.

 _House Manderly_ , he knew and took in the massive man surrounded by two guards. He was feasting on a massive piece of chicken, the grime running down his chin and neck. Two whores kept him company, one of them graced with massive breasts. Just looking at her made Barristan forget about his years of abstinence.

 _May the Mother give me strength_ , he muttered himself and gulped down his cup of wine.

"Oh, this one is like you," Irina, who had joined him not long ago, remarked."But he came here to find a boy and a wolf."

"A wolf?" he asked in confusion.

"Aye, he came her to search for this boy with the white wolf. Marlyn was able to recall him. He stayed here for a week in company of a pretty silver-haired girl. She was one of us…they marked her with the tears of woe."

"Tears of woe," he muttered. "What does that mean?"

"That she was a slave," the girl continued to explain and jerked her head at the massive man."The man also said that his Lord of…of ...Winterhell wants him to find the boy, because he is his brother…Or was it cousin?"

 _Robb Stark has no cousins other than the Lord of the Vale_ , he knew and rose to his feet. He didn't know why, but the story woke his interest.

"It is good to find a fellow Westerosi among these strangers," Ser Barristan remarked and graced the man with a smile. "Where do you hail from, my Lord?"

The massive man put his goblet away, his face flushed red from the wine. Yet he graced Barristan with a jolly smile.

"White Harbour," he replied and sent the whores on their way. "Where do you hail from, friend?"

"The Stormlands," he answered quickly. "What brings you here to Braavos?"

"To find my Lord's brother…his illegitimate brother. An important task my Lord Father thinks…well I cannot complain. The wine is good and I have my answers. Sadly, the boy left. I doubt my Lord will be pleased with this answer, but I can hardly search through all of Essos for a bastard boy that ran off with a whore."

"Wouldn't be the first time this kind of thing happens," Barristan remarked. "Pretty girls often cause boys to forget about their honour. Forgive my intrusion, I was just curious."

"No bother," the drunken Northman replied. "I will stay few more days…to settle a few contracts. You may join me if you like…I am always happy to speak to a fellow Westerosi."

"It would be my pleasure," Ser Barristan replied, though rather disappointed. He hoped for more. Thus he spent the evening in company of Wylis Manderly. It was getting late when the promised girl appeared.

She looked just like Irina described her. Red-haired and blue eyed. She was also dressed in a crimson robe.

As expected, she walked around, spoke to the girls and preached about her god.

"Pretty girl, a shame that she serves this strange god…I heard Stannis Baratheon keeps one of them as his advisors…," Wylis Manderly slurred, but Barristan rose to his feet and winked at the girl.

She started at him in confusion, but then she came to their table, a polite smile playing on her lips.

"What can I do for you?"

"I heard that you could provide me with an answer to my questions. Did you hear the rumour about the dragons?" he asked in low voice. The Northman next to him was barely listening, his thoughts clouded from the wine. Barristan doubted he understood what he was talking about, but he started to laugh when he heard about the dragons.

"Dragons…my you are a strange fellow," he muttered and gulped down another goblet.

"I was there when the dragons were born…I was there when the God of Light granted us a miracle."

Barristan smiled.

"Please tell me…Who woke the dragons and where does this person hide? I mean no harm to him or her."

The girl looked hesitant, but she eventually answered.

"She called herself Dany and she came to live in my father's house. She lived with a young man, her husband. Jon, they called him and he had a white wolf."

"White wolf?" Manderly asked, suddenly stone sober. "Are you sure this boy was called Jon? Can you describe what he looked like?"

"I am sure," the girl confirmed and looked utterly confused. "He had dark hair and grey eyes."

"Gods be good!" Manderly exclaimed and nearly spilled the wine over the table, but Barristan was quick enough and caught the cup. "And the girl…his wife…What did she look like?" he Lord continued with his questioning.

"She had silver hair and purple eyes…she said she is a Princess…and her son…she gave him the name of a dragonlord."

Barristan gasped.

"Dragonlord?" he asked and shuddered. "What name did she give the boy?"

"Aemon…for the Dragonknight," the girl answered as if she was recounting a tale.

"Where did she go?" Barristan asked, still unable to believe what he just heard.

"Lhazar," the girl replied and Wylis Manderly cursed.

"I fear the wine was too much," Wylis Manderly muttered and rubbed his hands over his flushed face. "Dragons…dragonlords…I am going mad."

"Don't fret, my Lord," Barristan remarked and patted his shoulders. He felt the urge to laugh, but he knew that this was not the right moment. "I don't think you are going mad, but I doubt this is a coincidence. I think we are searching for the same people. I am searching for the girl, a Princess of House Targaryen, and you are searching for the illegitimate son of Lord Stark. I don't know how, but it seems fate brought us together."

Wylis Manderly stared at him in disbelief.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Ser Barristan smiled and rose to his feet.

"Ser Barristan Selmy," he replied and lowered his head. "My name is Ser Barristan Selmy."

...


	12. The Ring of Fire

**Jon**

Shrouds of white were hovering over the hills and valleys. It was hours before sunset, the sky of a deep navy blue colour, lightened only by few stars flickering on the distant horizon.

They took their positions long ago. Now they were waiting for the sound of horse hooves and the cry of the Dothraki horde. Jon knew the fear the Golden Horde could instil and so did the Lhazareen warriors, lined up behind the ditch that was meant to trap and stop the charge of the enemy. It took nearly three days to dig the ditch and several hours to fill it with oil. Finished with this task they went on to drench their chosen battlefield in oil. Most of it was covered in pasture and that it hadn't rained for weeks could only be to their advantage, though Jon still feared the thick fog.

Tito had assured him that he would be able to lure the horde here, but Jon couldn't help to nurse doubts. _Soon_ , he told himself and eyed the light glinting on the distant horizon. In a few hours the sun will show itself.

Exhaling deeply, he turned around and took in the Lhazareen warriors. The front line was made up of men from Lhazosh and Kosrak. They were all garbed in leather armour and armed with spears and painted shields. They made up the first three lines and lined the half-moon-like ditch, spreading between two hills to the left and right. Behind the shieldmen stood the archers spread over the hill they had built from the dug-up earth.

 _A ring of fire._

 _It is the only way to win_ , he reminded himself not for the first time and smoothed his hand over the pommel of his sword. Carefully, he pulled the blade out and admired it. The torches, carried by the Lhazareen warriors, cast a golden glimmer on the polished blade.

The touch of Sonarys' hot breath on his cheek roused him out of his lethargic state. The dragon lay curled next to him, staring out in the darkness.

 _He is searching for his brothers_ , he knew and cast his eyes to the right flank. There on the hill he placed Dany and most of the Lhazareen women, who volunteered to take part in the battle. Naturally, this roused dissatisfaction among the men, but the women came anyway, probably spurred on by Tito's mother. Clad in leather armour and armed with bows they sat behind the shieldwalls, waiting for their enemy.

Jon was still worried about Dany's safety. Rhaegon and Viserion were there to protect her, but that wasn't enough to remove his fears. He knew the strength of the Dothraki horde. One stray arrow would be enough, but he couldn't bring himself to banish her to the side-lines. Besides, he needed her to control the dragons and she deserved to be part of this as much as the other women.

"Jon of Winterfell," Young Jemshid, son of the chief of Hesh, called him back to the present. "Can you hear it ?

Jon remained silent and listened. It was only subtle, but the vibration intensified with every passing moment.

"I do," Jon replied and nodded his head in confirmation. "They are coming."

"I know," Jemshid agreed and gave him a grim look.

Then they heard it. The thundering sound of a thousand hoofbeats shook the very earth as Jon tried to see through the fog.

Tito and his men are to join the men placed at the flanks once they reach the battlefield and the numerous torches flickering before him are meant to lure the Dothraki towards them. Tito was sure that the Dothraki wouldn't hesitate to attack them.

 _They think us weak_ , Tito had told him not long ago. _And that will be our advantage._

Jon didn't know what to think. His hand trembled as he observed the enemy's cavalry charge. Even the thick fog was unable to suppress the rumble of the hoof beats; rather, the concealment of their approaching figures only served to heighten the sense of impending doom.

Men liked to boast about their lack of fear in the face of the enemy, but in this moment Jon recalled Lord Stark's words after Jon's first execution.

 _One can only be brave in the face of fear._

"Shields and spear up!" he heard Young Jemshied's voice, echoing over the ranks of the warriors below. "Shields and spears up!"

It took only the blink of a moment before the men had lifted their shields and spears to meet the onslaught of the horde. Jon remained atop the hill, the banner of Kosrak and Lhazosh fluttering above his head and his dragon at his side.

The dragon shrieked as if aware of the impending danger.

"Patience," he whispered to the dragon and patted his neck. "Patience."

Yet all of these thoughts were banished away as the cries of the Dothraki screamers started to echo over the battlefield. Jon finally saw them, dark shadows moving behind white shrouds.

Tito's predictions proved right. The Dothraki riders stormed forward as if they could only see victory beyond the fog. Faster and faster they charged, spurred on by their illusion.

Jon's breath hitched as the first riders disappeared in the ditch. It wasn't all too deep, but not narrow enough to be crossed with a horse. Suddenly, hundreds of riders realized that the ground beneath their feet had disappeared. With helpless shouts, some of them pulled back on their reins, but it was already too late. They hurtled down into the ditch filled with slippery oil.

Thus it continued. The first wave of riders was pressed forward by the second line. The second wave of riders was pressed forward by the third line.

Soon the screams of horses contested with the cursing of the Dothraki warriors. As expected, some of them tried to crawl out of the ditch, but the Lhazareen warriors' stood strong and held them off with their sharp spears and shields.

"It is time," he told Young Jemshid, who nodded his head in grim determination.

"Prepare the arrows!" Young Jemshid commanded and at once the bowmen nocked their burning arrows.

"Nock!" Young Jemshid shouted and counted to three. "Loose!"

It sounded like the wings of a thousand birds taking flight at once.

Like a hundreds falling stars they fell upon the battleflield.

Another volley of arrows followed, before Jon's part was mean to begin.

Sweetly, he smoothed his hand over Sonarys' wings and gave the command.

"Sonarys!" he shouted and pointed at the ditch below."Dracarys! Dracarys!"

In the blink of a moment the oil caught fire, spreading along the ditch like a current of flames. Jon felt the heat on his skin, but that was not the end of it.

"Māzigon kesīr!" he shouted and at once his dragon returned to his side, the screams of men and horse alike filling his ears. Their burning arrows they had unleashed earlier helped to spread the flames over the battlefield.

It was a terrifying sound that made Jon shiver from head to toe, but he quickly brushed those feelings aside.

 _Not now!_

"Now," he told the beast and pointed ahead on the battlefield."Dracarys! Pōntoma Zālaza!"

That the dragon understood his command was still a miracle to him, though the result was terrifying to behold.

Sonarys' bathed the battlefield in a stream of blue fire. At once the flames, seeded by the burning arrows, doubled in size.

Higher and higher the flames rose as Sonarys unleashed stream of fire upon the battlefield.

"Jon!" Young Jemshid shouted and snapped him back to reality. "The beacon was lightened!"

Jon angled his head and looked at the right flank. There he saw it, the beacon that was meant to announce the second phase.

 _Now it's your turn Dany!_

Jon kept his gaze fixed at the dark hill, its outlines illuminated by the growing flames below. In regular intervals he heard the sound of arrows unleashed on the enemy, but soon even this sound was drowned out by the roaring flames.

Patiently, he waited for Rhaegon's and Viserion's attack.

At first he only saw the outline of their bodies, but then he saw their colourful flames. Visieron's yellow and Rhaegon's crimson flames, waltzed over the rear and made an escape impossible.

For this brief moment the battlefield turned into a ring of fire.

…

 **Daenerys**

The world was on fire. Flames of blue, red and yellow grew higher and higher, swallowing up the enemy like a hungry men his last supper. Dany shuddered at the sight, though she tried to put a brave face. She had never experienced war, only read about it in history books.

She tried to block out the smell of burned flesh and the arrows bouncing off their shields. Down below the hill she spotted Dothraki riders trying to hop over the sharp stakes and barricades. Their flank was better protected than the opposing one due the thick forest spreading below the hill. Yet Tito and his brother Hibal urged their men to remain vigilant.

"Shields and spears up!" she heard them shout as they continued to thrust their spears into approaching enemies.

Dany tried to forget about them, minding her own task. She had unleashed a dozen of arrows on them. Yet the increasing number of Dothraki riders trying to overcome the barricades and stakes worried her.

 _We are all dead if they reach us. We would be trapped. Not even the dragons would be able to help us._

"Arrows!" Tito warned and all of them ducked their heads. Some arrows snapped over their heads, but a good dozen of them stuck in the shields of the Lhazareen warriors. "Keep your shields up!"

A rush of fear washed over her as she gazed across the sea of flames stretching as far as her eyes could see. Somewhere over there was Jon. At least she thought so, for she saw Sonarys hovering over the burning ditch. The flames there were unnaturally high and bright. Dany had never seen anything like it.

Rhaegon and Viserion were still attacking the rear, though less enthusiastic than before. For her it seemed they grew bored with their task, but that was no surprise to her. They had the mind of young children.

"Arrows!" Tito warned again a moment later he found one sticking in his shield. Several others bounced off their painted shields or flew over their heads. Some of the women started to whimper, but Larsha showed no mercy.

"Crying is no use," the young woman snapped and shifted her attention to Tito, armed with his shield and spear. Whenever an enemy rider dared to get close he thrusted his spear with a precision that astounded Dany. "Keep shooting! If they get up here we are all fucked!"

Fear washed over Dany s she watched the dark shapes of the riders glimmering in the rising sun. The sky had lightened a little, though a a strange darkness had spread over the other side of the battlefield. The fire was unnaturally bright, but the dark smoke blocked out the sparse sunlight.

Nocking another arrow she turned back to look at the dragons circling above their heads.

 _Would they hear me from the distance_ , she wondered and unleashed an arrow on an approaching warrior. The arrow hit his horse right in the neck. The animal reared and at once the man ended up in the mud only to be killed by another arrow. Jon had told her once that a knight in plate armour wouldn't be easily vanquished by such arrows. Thus it relieved her that that the Dothraki were only clad in painted vests, though they were still terrifying in their own right. Another enemy would have long balked after a greater part of their arm got destroyed, but not the Dothraki.

"Arrows!" Tito warned again and Dany lowered her head. One of the girls, not far from her, was hit and whimpered in pain.

"More arrows!" one of the Lhazareen warriors shouted and another volley was unleashed upon them.

"Why are they all coming here?" Larsha asked in a frustrated voice. "This position is much harder to take than the other one…," she continued, but was interrupted by an arrow snapping past her head.

 _Too close_ , Dany thought, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. _Too close._

"You are right," Tito remarked and pulled his shield over his head to cover them. "But the dragons might have lured them here. The Dothraki probably held their reserve back and watched us. They only started to attack us after your dragons burned the rear."

"I could call the dragons back and set the forest below us on fire," she offered though that was a more than dangerous suggestion. At the moment the wind was in the favour, but one change and they would all burn to death.

"No," Tito replied and shook his head. "I will light the beacon…to inform the others about our peril."

"But they might need the men on the other side…," she countered, but Tito shook his head.

"It seems we were wrong and they decided to focus their attack on this position. Besides, Jon would cut off my balls if I allow something to happen to you. He specifically told me to alarm him if anything is amiss," he replied and gave her a reassuring smile. "Keep shooting and all will be well!"

"You heard my brother!" Larsha shouted at the other women. "Keep shooting those arrows!"

…

 **Jon**

Higher and higher the flames danced, hovering above them like a fiery fist. Jon could only watch in silence, his hand gripped around the hilt of his sword.

 _So much destruction_ , he thought, a strange feeling of sickness settling in his stomach. _I never have seen such high flames. Was this due to the oil or the dragonfire?_

He felt the heat on his skin, touching him, trying to devour him. For a brief moment he feared being swallowed up by the flames, but Young Jemshid ordered the men to retreat back to a safe distance.

Even the hardened warrior grimaced at the destruction, but didn't lose sight of the battle.

"The left flank is asking for our assistance," Young Jemshid remarked."I will collect our men and lend Chief Mallor our help."

"Do that, but leave the mounted men here," Jon asked of him, his gaze fixed on the right flank, a bright light burning on the hills like a candle on an inky candlestick. "The way to the right flank is much longer and the distance is easier to bridge atop a horse. It seems the Dothraki decided to attack both sides."

Young Jemshied frowned, but accepted his decision.

"I will do as you ask," Young Jemshid agreed quickly. "This is their last stand. It will soon be over."

"It will soon be over," Jon agreed and turned around to whistle. Ghost, who had observed the battle with impatience, was quickly at his side as he mounted his horse. Sonarys was still circling above his head, observing the sea of flames below.

Three-hundred men, riding under the command of Tito's cousin, set out to strengthen the right flank.

Jon spurred his horse onwards, his eyes burning from the smoke. The smell of burned human flesh lingered in his nose and mouth. It was a sweet smell, with a hint of decay. When he was watching the flames from behind the ditch he hardly smelled it, but now it washed over him like a wave.

 _Not now_ , he thought and forcefully brushed those distracting thoughts away. _Not now._

He spotted the enemy from afar. It was hard to say how many of them were still out there, but their sight was enough to send Jon's heart racing.

 _Dany I am coming._

"After me!" Tito's cousin shouted and lifted his spear. His men followed and Jon did the same, Ghost following after him like a loyal shadow.

It was good that they had scouted these lands a thousand times. It made it easier to make their way through the thick forest.

The enemy didn't see them coming.

Jon buried his sword in the first enemy he found. Blood splattered over his cloak as the men dropped from his horse. Another one followed, but this one pulled himself back to his feet only to be killed by a Lhazareen warrior. One tried to unhorse Jon, but Ghost was quicker and buried his sharp teeth in the horse's neck, tearing out flesh and bones.

Thus the killing continued.

 _Cut. Hack. Cut. Hack._

It was like a prayer on his lips and soon he forgot the pain he always felt when trying to lift his arm. The pain was a gift from his maiden battle in Qhohor. Yet the pain was still there, like a distant echo.

Another Dothraki rider was hurled from his horse as he buried his blade in the animal's neck. Arrows hissed through the air and Jon quickly moved his horse to the left side to evade the deadly missiles. This happened once, twice but only at the third time was his horse hit. The animal reared and he stumbled to the ground. He heard the sound of cracking bones, but was able to return to his feet.

Not wasting a moment he picked up his sword and met the curved blade of a Dothraki warrior. Steel met steel, bringing forth a ringing sound. Left and right the blades met in a wild dance, but Jon was quicker and dealt the man a cut to the left. He whimpered, his hand gone, nothing more left than a bleeding stump.

Jon wasted no time and dealt him a cut to the neck. He wheezed for air and collapsed from his horse in a puddle of blood.

Ghost unhorsed another one while Jon attacked the next one and buried his blade to the hilt. Suddenly, his heart knew no fear, only the song of steal and blood.

…

 **Daenerys**

The sun had finally risen above the horizon, casting the scorched plain in a bloody glimmer. There was not much left, but ash and bones.

The smell of death filled her nostrils and her eyes burned from the smoke. Above the sky she spotted Rhaegon and Viserion, unperturbed by the past events. For them all of this was a game.

Dany couldn't say how many warriors perished in the flames, but she knew that they won.

 _A shattering defeat will make the Dothraki think twice before they attack again_ , Jon was convinced and she believed him. Yet she was unable to shrug off the gloomy feeling as she followed after the other women. Only twenty died, but several of them suffered arrow wounds. The rest of them remained relatively unharmed, though almost all of them were covered in ash and sooth.

Even now flames were rising from the battlefield, sending plumes of dark smoke into the air. The sky was no longer clear blue, but dark and threatening. Dark dreary clouds hung over them, ready to pour down their load of rain.

Dany hoped for it. Her throat was dry and she longed to wash off the ash and guilt.

She tried to kill before, but this was different.

Thousands of Dothraki warriors perished in the flames. The thought alone made her shiver, though they won a victory.

Yet there was no cheering. Most were just relieved that the battle was over.

Amidst this chaos she found Jon, stumbling over the dead bodies. She was only able to differentiate him from the other men, because Ghost was there, his fur covered in ash and blood.

Jon's face was pitch black as if someone touched his head in a pot of ink.

Ghost was the first one to spot her and came running towards her, licking her hand as if he was searching for something to eat.

"There you are boy," she said and patted his head, before making her way towards Jon.

By then he had turned around and brushed his hand over his face.

"It is over," he said, in hallow almost gloomy voice. His eyes were red from the smoke, almost bleeding.

He looked terrible as if someone had cast a shadow over him.

"We won," she said, allowing herself to smile in relief. He didn't return his smile and only pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his head in her shoulder.

"Jon," she asked as he trembled. "What is wrong?"

Then she felt something wet on her face. She lifted her head to the sky.

Then it started to rain.

Yet it was no common rain.

The rain was as black as ink.

…

 **Sansa**

The throne room was filled to the brim and Sansa was barely able to get a glimpse at her gallant King. Joffrey was clad in crimson and gold, a gilded crown resting on his golden locks.

 _He looks like a true King_ , she thought and was barely able to calm her quickly beating heart. _My King. My love._

The only thing that dimmed her mood was that she wasn't allowed to stand at his side. She even felt a hint of jealousy washing over her when she spotted the Queen Mother standing next to Joffrey.

Her smile was as brilliant as a star and her garments were even finer. Garbed in a dream of red silk she gave the appearance of a ruby.

Lord Tywin was not far, standing at the feet of the Iron Throne, the ugly barbed chair once forged by Aegon the Conqueror. He was clad in a long flowing cloak of red velvet. His golden armour, embellished with lions, was polished like a looking glass. She half expected him to ride on his white stallion like he did on the day he met Stannis Baratheon in battle.

Sansa didn't see the battle, but heard enough from the men to understand that it was a brutal fight.

 _The wildfire feasted on Stannis Baratheon's fleet_ , she had heard from Joffrey's mouth. He had spent all evening enthralling her with his tales, describing to her in detail how he slew one enemy after another. The Hound had told her that it was a mere tale, but she didn't believe him.

 _Surely, her King wouldn't lie to her?_

He was earnest when he promised her to spare her Lord Father's life. Arya may think what she pleased, but it was Sansa who pleaded for her Lord Father's life.

 _She knows nothing_ , she reminded herself. At the bottom of the steps, leading up to the throne the Kingsguard assembled, every single one of them clad in a cloak as white as snow. They all looked splendid, even though she noticed Ser Barristan's absence. She knew why the King had to dismiss him, but he was always kind to her and thus she couldn't help but to feel sad.

 _My brother Jaime will make a better Commander of the Kingsguard_ , the Queen had told her not long ago.

Sansa brushed those thoughts away and watched as the Tyrell family stepped before the King they betrayed.

Yet Sansa couldn't help but to be awed by the splendour of Highgarden. All their knights wore polished armour and wore cloaks of a deep green colour, each embellished with a golden rose.

Lord Mace Tyrell was a man close to her Lord Father's age, his golden-brown hair streaked with grey. In his youth he might have been a gallant man, but his girth gave him the appearance of a man who grew too satisfied with his life. His two sons, Ser Garlan and Ser Loras, outshone him in every aspect. Ser Garlan was a tall, broadly-built man and graced with golden-brown hair. His brother Ser Loras was graced with softer-featured, but Sansa knew that this was no indication for his lack of strength. Ser Loras's bravery in battle had spread throughout the whole city. Every maid in the castle sighed as he rode through the city. The Tyrells may have betrayed the King, but the smallfolk love them well.

Sansa's love for Joffrey was true, but she couldn't help but to admire Ser Loras.

 _May the maiden forgive me._

At last Lady Margaery Tyrell appeared, coming to stand beside her Lord Father. She wore a gown of pale silk and a green cloak, embellished with the golden rose of House Tyrell. She wore her curling brown hair open, a single white flower placed in her soft locks.

She looked like the maiden reborn and Sansa couldn't help but to feel a hint of jealousy.

 _I will be Joffrey's Queen_ , she knew and brushed these treacherous thoughts away. _The Tyrells redeemed themselves, but I will be Joffrey's Queen._

The hall fell silent. All she heard was the soft breathing of the lords and ladies standing behind her.

Then her King straightened himself and began to speak.

"Lord Tyrell," Joffrey addressed the Lord of the Reach in a raised voice. "We rejoice that you have recognized your error and came to aid us in our fight against my treacherous Uncle. House Baratheon will not forget your valour in battle and the help you lent us on this bloody day, but your King still expects you to renew your oath of loyalty. Let everyone hear that you abandoned your past allegiance."

Lord Tyrell's face was slightly flushed as he knelt before his King and renewed his vows.

He spoke in a low and almost soft voice. Sansa heard only whispering, but Joffrey's smile relieved her. The Tyrells chose a wrong path, but they helped to save the city. They deserve to be forgiven.

 _Like my Lord Father._

"We forgive House Tyrell," the King said at last. "You may rise, Lord Tyrell. You may rise."

Joffrey smile was bright, but the Queen's smile was even brighter. In that moment she looked like a proud lioness, her locks falling around her shoulders like a mane of beaten gold.

Lord Tyrell muttered something in return and kept his head fixed on the ground.

"I thank you, your Grace," she heard Lord Tyrell's whispering.

"No need, my Lord," he replied politely, the smile banished from his lips as he descended down the steps.

As he reached the bottom of the steps he swept his red cloak over his shoulder, his gaze fixed on the Maid of Highgarden.

"There is no need for gratitude," the King added and stepped towards the young girl. "My Lord Grandfather and Hand of the King informed me about our betrothal and marriage. Being able to behold your beauty makes this task all the more enjoyable."

 _Betrothal and marriage_ , she repeated and froze. _It can't be!_

It felt as if the sun was banished from the sky, all her happiness taken from her in this fateful moment.

"I thank you for your kind words," the Maid of Highgarden replied softly and lowered her head in reverence. "I am honoured by this offer, your Grace."

Joffrey smiled at the Maid of Highgarden like had smiled at her. It was his mother's smile, bright as a star.

Sansa trembled.

 _This can't be right. He made a promise…he made a promise to Robb._

She wanted to say these words out loud, but she didn't dare.

Sickness washed over her as she watched Joffrey place a kiss on Lady Margaery's hand.

 _I can't be_ , she thought again and refused to believe it. _He promised his love to me._

Anger seized her in that moment and it took all her composure to keep her tears at bay.

The rest of the ceremony was nothing more than a blur. When it was done, she dismissed her ladies and rushed outside to hide her shame.

 _I cannot allow them to see my tears,_ she thought but they came anyway, rolling down her cheeks in a river of salt.

 _They did it behind my back_ , she realized and balanced herself against the wall.

"Sweet child, don't cry!" a soft and familiar voice called her back to the present. Quickly, Sansa brushed her tears away and turned around, trying to give an indifferent appearance in front of the Master of Coin.

"I am not crying," she replied, though he clearly saw the redness of her cheeks.

"Yes, you are," Lord Baelish remarked and handed her an embroidered handkerchief. "And you should dry your tears. Beauty like yours shouldn't be tainted by tears."

"It seems I am not as beautiful as the Maid of Highgarden," she declared, not hiding her anger at the King. _He never loved me. His promises were nothing more than empty lies._

"I doubt your beauty has anything do with it, sweet child," Lord Baelish remarked and winked his hankerchief before her head.

She smiled. His words were like balm on her broken heart.

His smile even brightened as she took the hankerchief and brushed her tears away.

"Why then?" she asked, desperate for an answer. "You serve the King. Did he speak his thoughts to you? Please tell me…"

"Because the Maid of Highgarden has something you don't have…swords and gold," he explained and brushed his hand over her cheek. A strand of hair had escaped her braided hair. "Don't fret about it, my Lady. You deserve much more…so much more."

She didn't know what to make of his words.

 _Was he just trying to be kind to her?_

"I thank you for your kind words, my Lord," she replied at last and wanted to return his hankerchief.

"Keep it, my Lady," he replied and bowed his head. "More tears might follow, but know this: You have a friend in me as did your Lady Mother."

"I thank you again," she replied and lowered her head. He smiled almost softly and grasped her head to place a kiss on her knuckles.

Then he left her standing there, all alone.

Everything came crushing down on her in this moment.

She was alone, utterly alone. She cast away everything to have Joffrey's love.

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and her heart hardened against the King.

 **…**

 **Ser Barristan**

Hills and valleys of pasture spread before them. He and Lord Wylis had travelled for weeks. The lands of Lhazar were wide and dry. It hardly rained, though the nights could get rather chilly.

Ser Barristan was used to the pleasant weather of King's Landing, but his armour kept him warm enough. Ser Wylis was different.

The constant heat was a pain for him. Even now he was sweating like a pig and never failed to complain about his task.

"How did a Princess of House Targaryen end up in a brothel?" he asked not for the first time.

Ser Barristan didn't answer immediately. The very thought of seeing Queen Rhaella's daughter being subjected to such humiliation made his blood boil.

"I heard that the Princess and her brother fell victim to an assassination," he answered vaguely. He and Ser Wylis may share a common goal, but he was still a Northman and he intended to be careful. "I thought them dead, but then I heard of the dragons. Now I know the truth. The Princess is alive and I owe her my sword."

Ser Wylis frowned and brushed the sweat from his brow.

"And a year ago you still served King Robert," the man countered, but Ser Barristan knew what he was really trying to say. _Why would you want to serve a runaway whore wed to a bastard?_

"King Robert is dead…a bastard occupies the throne," he replied more sharply than he intended. "Or do you believe that Lord Eddard Stark committed treason?"

"No," Lord Wylis replied with utter conviction. "Lord Stark confessed treason to protect his daughters. There is no doubt that the King is a bastard."

"Something we can agree on," Ser Barristan replied and kicked his boots in the sides of his horse.

They were riding along a swirling rode when he spotted the city they were searching for. _Lhazosh._

The girl in Braavos didn't know where Jon Snow and the Princess travelled, but almost everyone in Lhazar heard of the two foreigners and their dragons.

Ser Barristan didn't believe his ears when they shared their fantastical tales.

 _The dragons burned a whole horde of Dothraki_ , they had told him, but Barristan was unable to believe it. The dragons couldn't be older than a year. How could they be this powerful?

"Lhazosh," Ser Wylis remarked and pointed at the city walls. "It looks like they described it: A city with high pale walls."

"It does," Ser Barristan agreed, but stilled when he spotted the creatures blocking out the sun.

"Gods be good!" Ser Wylis Manderly shouted and pointed at the sky. For a brief moment Barristan thought he might collapse from his horse. His guards were not different, their faces pale like snow.

"Dragons!" Ser Barristan gasped, his eyes fixed at the creatures flying above their heads. They were as big as horses, their brightly-coloured skin glittering like diamonds. One dragon had blue skin like the summer sea, one dragon had wings as dark as the night sky and another dragon had scales of silver and gold.

Ser Barristan was elated.

 _I found them. Finally._

He ignored the Northmen and led his horse towards the city gates.

The people of Lhazosh eyed them curiously, but none of them were rude or unfriendly.

Yet it was hard to find someone who was able to speak their language.

It took a while, before they found a merchant, clearly a Lhazareen, who was able to speak Bastard Valyrian.

"I am seeking an audience with the owner of these gracious dragons," he explained his purpose.

The man gave him a strange look, but answered nonetheless.

"You have to go to the Chief's home…Chief Mallor is his name," he explained and pointed down a large street lined with trees and carts. "Go down the street and cross the large courtyard…the guards will stop you, but they will understand you. Chief Mallor is a learned man."

"My thanks," Ser Barristan relied and wanted to hand him a coin, but the man refused.

They did as they were told and found the Chief's house without much effort. As expected, the guards stopped them.

"I am here to seek an audience with the owner of the dragons," he explained his purpose again.

"What is your name?" one of them inquired mistrustfully.

"I am Ser Barristan Selmy, I was a knight in the service of Princess Daenerys'," he explained and turned around to point at Lord Wylis Manderly.

"I am Lord Wylis Manderly…I came to find Jon," he explained plainly and without much fanfare.

"Jon," the man said, recognition washing over him. "I know Jon of Winterfell. I will call for him if you state your business."

Lord Manderly frowned.

"His brother… Lord Robb of Winterfell sent me to speak with him," he explained.

"His brother," he muttered and nodded his head in understanding. Then he opened the gates and called for one of the younger guards.

Ser Barristan didn't understand what he told the young boy, but a moment later disappeared.

Then he led them into an airy courtyard. A horde of children played there, throwing balls at each other. They eyed him and one cheeky girl even pointed a finger at him.

They stopped before a staircase and the children giggled. Ser Barristan tried to ignore them, but it was harder than expected. Their bright laughter made his head squirm and he felt strangely anxious.

"There they are!" the young guardsman from earlier said and pointed at Ser Barristan and Lord Wylis Manderly.

Behind him Ser Barristan spotted two young people.

One was a girl, clad in pale robes and sandals. One could have thought her a sheep herder, but her pale silver hair and her bright purple eyes told him that his long travel was not without merit.

Next to her stood a young man, but Ser Barristan was unable to make out his face from the distance. He was neither tall nor small, his tanned skin framed by black hair.

"Who do you bring, Hibal?" the girl asked, her voice soft and filled with curiosity.

"Ser Barristan," the man answered and pointed first at Ser Barristan and then at Lord Wylis Manderly. "And this one seeks Jon…he says his brother sent him here."

"Robb sent you," the boy said, astonishment evident in his voice. Finally, he stepped from the shadows, his grey eyes searching Lord Manderly's gaze. "Why?"

"To take you home," the Lord explained plainly. "Why else?"

The boy opened his mouth as if to speak, but then he stopped. Abruptly, his gaze flickered to Ser Barristan.

"Barristan Selmy?" he asked in disbelief. "The Barristan Selmy?"

He sounded almost like a little child and Ser Barristan felt a hint of sympathy washing over him.

The boy didn't waste another moment and explained Ser Barristan's relationship with the Princess' family.

"This man…he is very famous…he used to serve your family," he told the Princess.

Ser Barristan, thankful for the help, made his way up the steps and dropped to his knees.

The girl paled, her eyes wide in shock.

A trembling smile curled on her lips.

"Did you know my Lady Mother…and my Lord Brother?"

He couldn't help but to smile and took her hand. She was clearly surprised by this gesture, but didn't appear frightened.

"Of course I did," he replied and winced at his trembling voice. "You are her very image…and your Lord Brother Prince Rhaegar was a good friend of mine. I still weep for his loss."

Ser Barristan felt relief washing over him as he noticed the Princess' tears.

"You are welcome, Ser Barristan," she began, but the boy frowned. His hand was resting on the pommel of his blade, though Ser Barristan was sure that the boy knew what kind of an enemy he would have to face.

"You served King Robert," the boy said in an almost icy voice. "Why are you suddenly prepared to change your loyalty?"

"King Robert is dead," he explained bluntly. "And his son dismissed me…but the boy is no true King. He is a bastard. There is much you need to hear."

"Maybe," the boy replied and his hand fell to his side. "But I will kill you if you try to fool us."

"No harm will come to you or the Princess," Ser Barristan assured him and dropped the Princess' hands.

"I am a traitor…you may kill me if you wish," he told her and dropped his head.

A moment of silence followed before she started to laugh.

"Why would I want to kill you?" she asked, her voice brimming with emotions. "I want to hear about my family. I doubt a headless would be able to do that."

Ser Barristan didn't believe his ears and met her gaze.

"Nothing would please me more."

"Good," she said and jerked her head at Jon, a smile lightening up her face. "But it is not I you should kneel to…Jon is my brother's son…Prince Rhaegar's son."

Barristan thought he misheard, but he found no hint of dishonesty displayed on her face.

Silence stretched between them as she stared at the boy.

He still carried the same unreadable look, his features a grimace of mistrust.

Suddenly, his eyes were no longer grey, but dark as the night. These eyes were familiar, but maybe his mind was trying to play a trick on him. He was an old man and his eyes were growing weak.

"I don't understand…," he muttered helplessly, but the finally provided him the answer he was searching for.

"Aye" he admitted in an almost sour tone. "Lady Lyanna Stark is my mother and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is my father."

…


	13. Legacy

**Jon**

The smell of roasted fish and sheep mixed with the smell of spices, but Jon felt no urge to eat. Their guests were different. Both Ser Barristan and Lord Wylis Manderly ate as if they hadn't seen a proper meal in weeks. For Jon that was a surprise, because their food was nothing special. It was surely nothing compared to the dishes they received at home. Especially, Ser Barristan must miss the delicacies of the south.

"I apologize for the meagre meal, but we didn't expect guests," Daenerys explained and handed Ser Wylis Manderly a bowl filled with steaming meat and vegetables. His Lord Father was massive man, but his son was of no slender built either. It looked quite amusing how he tried to fit himself on the cushioned seat beneath his wobbling girth. Ser Barristan, thin and agile, looked almost out of place next to Lord Wylis Manderly.

"It is no bother," Lord Wylis Manderly replied politely and spooned the food into his mouth. It was not enough, but Jon doubted Lord Wylis intended to stay for long. Ser Barristan was another matter.

"Ser Barristan," Jon addressed the elderly knight. "You mentioned that King Joffrey dismissed you. May I ask why he would do something foolish like that? Surely, the King is aware of your reputation."

Ser Barristan's gaze darkened and he put down his bowl.

"I don't think it was the King's decision. The Queen Mother wanted me gone. She always wanted her brother to rise to the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The reason was ludicrous. She accused me of negligence when I …," he continued, but stopped abruptly, a strange expression washing over his face.

"Gods…I am a fool," he muttered to himself and craned his neck to look at Jon. He looked regretful, as if he was about to apologize, but then he stopped himself and cleared his throat, before he continued to speak. "I think it is best when I start at the beginning…I met Lord Eddard Stark not long ago when he still occupied the position of Hand of the King. Now both Lord Stark and I find ourselves removed from our positions, though due to different reasons. Lord Eddard Stark was victim of a betrayal, though I admit his actions were quite risky given his weak position at court. Now I regret that I didn't try to warn him, but back then I was foremost a member of the Kingsguard…I hope you understand. Well, coming back to the topic at hand…I doubt that you are aware of it, but Lord Eddard Stark was accused of treachery against his King and was forced to take the Black…," he trailed off.

Jon froze, unable to wrap his had around Ser Barristan's words. Treason was not something he associated with Lord Stark, but then he recalled what Ser Barristan told them only hours ago.

 _The boy is no true King_ … _he is a bastard._

"You mentioned that Joffrey is a bastard. Did Lord Stark find out about King Joffrey's true birth?"

"Indeed," Ser Barristan confirmed and nodded his head. "The boy is supposedly the son of Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer. At least that is what your Lord Uncle accused him of when he stormed the Red Keep. Sadly, he was betrayed and taken captive. For weeks the King kept him imprisoned while your cousin Robb Stark was waging a war against the Lannisters. He won several victories, but in the end he bent the knee to save his Lord Father's life. Shortly after, Lord Stark confessed his treason, though he probably did it to protect his daughters. Even I can understand why he lied."

Jon swallowed hard. It was too much to take in, but the worst was this clenching feeling of guilt.

 _I should have been there to help Robb._

Shame washed over him, but there were still many questions lingering on the tip of his tongue.

"And my sisters?" he asked. It didn't escape him that Ser Barristan called Lord Stark his Uncle and Robb his cousin, but to him they were still his siblings. "Are they still in Lannister hands?"

"Lady Arya returned to Winterfell, but Lady Sansa was still betrothed to King Joffrey when I departed for Braavos."

The news about Arya relieved him, but the fact that Sansa is still promised to wed Joffrey disgusted him. It wasn't even his bastard birth that irked Jon, but the boy's vile character. Sansa used to call him her half-brother, but she deserved better than Joffrey.

"But why would Jon's brother allow that?" Daenerys asked, who had been listening to their exchange in silence. "Surely, he wouldn't want his sister to wed to a boy who accused his Lord Father of treason?"

Lord Wylis huffed and grabbed for his wooden cup. He winced at the taste of the ale. It was probably too weak for his taste, but the Lhazareen preferred mix it with water and honey.

Then he took his time to answer Daenerys' question.

"Lord Robb had no choice, but to accept Tywin Lannister's conditions. I am sure he would have preferred to refuse such a match, but he could hardly object, given that his Lord Father's life was dangling on silver string. I hold no grudge against my Lord, though others are still grumbling about his decision."

"And Lord Stark took the black?" Jon asked as if to confirm the truth. It was a strange irony. Jon was meant to join the Night's Watch, but now Lord Stark was forced to join. It felt as if they traded places.

"He did," Ser Barristan confirmed and emptied his cup. Daenerys was quick to refill it, which caused an odd reaction from Ser Barristan. Jon knew the reason. It must be strange for him to see Queen's Rhaella daughter act like a servant. "But I suppose it is a consolation that Lord Stark didn't lose his head. Much bloodshed was avoided, though there two other contenders that intend to claim the crown from King Joffrey."

"Who are these contenders?" Daenerys asked curiously, her eyes wide with curiosity. Sometimes Jon forgot how little she knew about Westeros.

"Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon both challenged King Joffrey for the crown," Lord Wylis Manderly answered and broke the bread. "There is no doubt that Stannis has the stronger claim, but Renly Baratheon wed Margaery Tyrell and enjoys the support of the Reach and the Stormlands. I am no seer, but there is no doubt for me that Renly will win this struggle."

Daenerys looked disappointed. She probably hoped that these claimants were relatives of hers. _Well, the Baratheons are kin to the Targaryens, but they would take our heads if they knew about our existence._

"I think you shouldn't underestimate the might of the Westerlands," Ser Barristan remarked and put his empty bowl aside."The fact that Stannis and Renly are fighting each other instead of the enemy will cost them dearly. Renly is a fool. He should have submitted and accepted his brother's claim. Lord Stannis has only one child, a sickly daughter. With luck Lord Stannis would have been prepared to accept him as his heir, but power has tempted even the strongest of men," he added, his sad blue eyes coming to rest on Jon.

Jon felt as if his words were not only directed at Renly, but also at Jon.

 _Does he think I am striving for the crown now that I am aware of the truth?_

"I am not Renly Baratheon," Jon replied bluntly and met the knight's gaze. "I don't claim what is not mine to claim. I don't care about the Iron Throne. Before I met Daenerys I intended to join the Night's Watch. Besides, I am a bastard. I have no claim to the throne, even though my father was a prince and my mother was a highborn lady of noble stock."

Ser Barristan's expression told him that he disagreed with his assessment.

"Bastard or not," Ser Barristan said after a moment of silence had settled over them, his blue eyes flickering back to Daenerys."But you are wed to the Princess. Your marriage legitimizes you," he added and angled his head to look at Aemon. He sat next to Ghost and threw around his toys. He was babbling, but now as that the knight's gaze fell on him he stopped and grew utterly silent. "And your son…most of Prince Rhaegar's former allies would consider him the rightful heir."

"Aemon is a babe," Jon replied more sharply than intended. He knew what the knight was trying to say and it may even be true, but he recalled all too well what happened to his half-sister Rhaenys and his half-brother Aegon. Both of them were brutally murdered. "I don't see him leading armies anytime soon. And most of my father's supporters are probably long dead. It has been sixteen years."

"I have to disagree," Ser Barristan replied and sounded slightly disappointed. "The Mad King may be cursed, but your Father Prince Rheager was beloved by many. I know what lies they spread about him, but until my dying day I am prepared to swear that he never raped your Lady Mother. To think that others think him capable of such a vile deed disgusts me. Prince Rhaegar had is failures, but cruelty was not one of them."

 _He thinks I am not aware of the truth_ , Jon realized. _He mistook my sharp words for hatred._

"Don't fret on it, Ser Barristan," he assured him quickly and forced a smile over his lips. "I am aware that my father didn't harm my mother. I know that he loved her dearly."

Surprise washed over Ser Barristan's face and Lord Wylis nearly choked on his ale.

"How do you know?" Ser Barristan asked.

"Jon found my brother's letters. Lord Stark kept them hidden in Lady Lyanna's tomb," Daenerys answered and hopped to her feet. Quickly, she rushed to the wooden box in which they kept their coin and other precious possessions. It took only a brief moment before she found the bound letters returned to his side.

"Here," she said and showed Ser Barristan the letters. "They are written in High Valyrian, but they are from my brother's hand. It is the truth."

"It is true," Jon confirmed. By now he was able to read parts of the letter. His father's name and title was the first thing Daenerys taught him how to read and to write. "And the letters are all addressed to the same person… Aemon Targaryen. He supposedly resides at the Wall…at least that is what I was able to deduce from their correspondence. I also know that he is our Grand-Uncle. I am by no means an expert on Targaryen History, but I know that King Maekar had a son named Aemon Targaryen. He refused the crown in favour of his younger brother King Aegon the Unlikely."

"This is correct," Ser Barristan muttered to himself as he started to unfold one of the letters. Swiftly, his blue eyes wandered over the faded paper. Suddenly, he gasped.

"You can read it, can't you, good Sir?" Daenerys asked and leaned closer.

"I can," he replied, an elated smile curling on his lips. "I watched both your brothers when they were learning their letters. I am certainly not as proficient as your brother Prince Rhaegar, but it is enough to decipher the content. It seems the Prince was holding a secret correspondence with your Grand-Uncle Aemon. No wonder, given how wary the King was of his son."

"Wary?" Jon asked. "Why was the Mad King wary of my father?"

Ser Barristan sighed and folded the letter.

"King Aerys threatened to disinherit him in favour of Prince Viserys. He feared Rhaegar more than he loved him. Not without reason... Some say the Tourney at Harrenhall was part of Prince Rhaegar's plan to depose his father, but his plans were foiled."

"Foiled?" Daenerys asked."By whom?"

Ser Barristan's gaze darkened and Lord Wylis Manderly's frown deepened. He had observed their whole exchange in grim silence.

 _He is unsure what to make of his._

Jon shared his feelings, but it seemed there are still many things he doesn't know about his father.

"The same man who sent me here," Ser Barristan answered, his voice brimming with subdued anger. "Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers informed the King about Prince Rhaegar's plots. He was the reason the King Aerys was able to remain on the Iron Throne. However, he is also the reason I was able to find you. Forgive me, for making common cause with this man, but it was the only way. He asked me to send word if I am able to find you, but I have no intention to fulfil this errand. I don't trust him nor do I know what his real motives are."

 _I misjudged him_ , Jon realized and felt his mistrust ebb away. _He seems honest._

"This Lord Varys," Daenerys said and broke the silence. "Do I understand this correctly? First he served my Lord Father and helped to foil my brother's plots and then he changed sides to serve King Robert? And now he wanted you to find _us_? I agree with you…this man seems fishy."

"He only asked me to find the owner of the dragons…a Princess of House Targaryen," Ser Barristan corrected himself and graced Jon with an apologetic smile. "And I agree with your assessment, Princess. Lord Varys cannot be trusted."

Then Ser Barristan turned to look at him and cleared his throat.

"That brings me back to our earlier topic. You say that no one would support you, but I have to disagree. Princess Daenerys shows a great resemblance to her Lady Mother, you are wed to her, you have healthy son and more importantly…you have three dragons, the very symbol of House Targaryen. For you it may sound trivial, but as I told you before…your Prince Rhaegar was beloved and some of his allies yet linger in this world, waiting for an opportunity to take revenge. Surely, your cousin Lord Robb would support you?"

Ser Barristan looked at him, but Jon felt as if the question was meant for Lord Wylis.

The massive man shrugged his shoulders and put away his wooden cup.

"I don't know my Lord's mind, but he gave me a letter addressed for you Lord Snow," he explained and met Jon's gaze.

Jon felt a gust of warmth washing over him.

"A letter for me?"

"Lord Stark also told me to inform you that you are always welcome in Winterfell," Lord Wylis Manderly replied and pulled a folded piece of parchment out of his vest. Jon picked it from his hand and felt the urge to read it, but then he decided against it. _Later. I need a calm head._

Then he lifted his head and graced Lord Manderly with a warm smile.

"I thank you for coming here. I don't know what to say."

Finally, a hint of a smile showed on Lord Wylis' face.

"It was no bother. Besides, Lord Stark also sent me here to buy corn for the coming winder and to take out a loan from the Iron Bank. Thus I will be forced to return to Braavos within the next weeks. I need your answer in good time if you intend to return with me to Winterfell."

"I see," Jon said and nodded his head in understanding. "But I can give you my answer now. You saw the dragons, didn't you, my Lord?"

"I did, Lord Snow."

"Then you already know my answer. I can't go home without Robb's approval. At least for now I have to remain here. I will write a letter to my brother to explain our current situation. Will you return to the Free Cities?"

"I will," Lord Manderly confirmed. "But my next travel is six moons away."

"That is enough time," Jon assured him and patted the letter. "I will read the letter tonight and write an answer tomorrow. Thus you will be able to leave within the next few days."

Lord Wylis sighed in relief and rose to his feet. It took him great effort to heave his body in the air, his face flushed red in a matter of a seconds.

Then he dipped his head and graced Daenerys with a smile.

"I thank you for the hearty meal, my Lady," he thanked her. "But my head is heavy and I am in dire need of sleep."

"Of course," Daenerys said and rose to her feet to open the door. "I will show you the way to the guest chambers. I asked one of the girls to prepare a bed for you. I hope all is to your taste, my Lord."

Then Lord Wylis bowed his head to Jon and Ser Barristan and Daenerys closed the door behind her.

Jon took another glance at the letter and was sorely tempted to read it, but then he noticed Ser Barristan's gaze resting on him.

 _He is searching my face for a ghost_ , Jon was sure.

"I don't have much of my father, do I?" Jon asked him with a wry smile and started to collect the bowls.

"You do have the Stark colouring…nobody can deny that," Ser Barristan confirmed what Jon already knew. "But you do have much of Prince Rhaegar's character. He always had a rather melancholic character. You also have his eyes. It is subtle, but it is there. In truth, I am an old man and my memory is fading. I don't have a clear painting of him in my head to compare him to you, but I understand now why Lord Stark wanted to sent you to the Night's Watch. Those who knew Prince Rhaegar, would be able to notice the resemblance. This I can assure you."

Jon couldn't help but to laugh. He knew that Prince Rhaegar was his father, but it felt strange for him to think of him as such.

"What does it matter though?" he asked. "Do you really think they would support _us_? Do you even know where I found Daenerys?"

Ser Barristan's gaze darkened, guilt evident on his wrinkled face.

"I heard about it, but the past doesn't matter. Nobody will care about that once…," Ser Barristan continued, but Jon couldn't help but to interrupt him.

"Our enemies would call her a whore and they would call me a bastard. Why should I give up this peaceful life for a crown that nearly wiped out my entire family?" he asked and leaned over to pat Aemon's curly head. He was sleeping, his head resting on Ghost's soft fur.

Ser Barristan remained silent.

He simply lifted his cup and drank, before speaking again.

"That is your wish," the elderly knight said at last."But what of the Princess? Have you considered her wishes? And you should also consider the dragons. Do you think you can hide here forever?"

"What you say is true," Jon admitted grudgingly. "But Daenerys' knowledge about her family is lacking. I have yet to tell her the truth about her Lord Father and his involvement with my family. She only knows bits and pieces."

Ser Barristan was stunned.

"And she never asked you?"

Jon swallowed hard and shook his head.

"No," he replied hesitatingly and leaned over to hoist Aemon into his arms. "I think she is afraid. Maybe you can help us both to get a greater understanding of our past. Only then will we be able to make a decision. You intend to stay, don't you, Ser Barristan?"

Hope and warmth washed over Ser Barristan's weary face.

"Of course," he said and lowered his head in reverence. "Nothing would please me more."

…

 **Cersei**

The whore of Highgarden was a pretty girl. Pretty, but plain compared to herself and her daughter Myrcella. Margaery Tyrell was a girl of slender built, graced with a heart-shaped face and golden eyes.

 _Her youth gives her beauty_ , Cersei knew. _There will be nothing left of it once she birthed one or two babes for my glorious son._

Again the girl's laughter echoed through the spacious solar, the smell of flowers lingering in the air. It was a smell Cersei came to hate over the last weeks. It was a smell she associated with treachery.

She held not much love for the Starks, but Sansa Stark would have certainly made a more pliable Queen than the whore of Highgarden. The girl might feign sweetness and play stupid in front of her glorious son, but Cersei knew a false smile when she saw one.

 _She is a vile and clever little thing_ , she knew and watched as she whispered into Joff's ear. Her son smiled a little, his jade eyes fixed on the fool hopping over the table. He even clapped and the whore and her string of cousins giggled happily.

 _Father is growing blind and old_ , she knew and fanned herself fresh air. _The Tyrells will betray us the moment they find an opportunity to do so._

"It seems you don't enjoy yourself, _dear mother_ ," Lady Margaery remarked from her cushioned seat next to Joff. She was garbed in a dream of red silk, obviously meant to emphasis her tiny breasts. Again the smell of flowers filled Cersei's nostrils as the girl leaned closer. Again she felt a hint of sickness washing over her, but she gritted her teeth and kept her composure.

 _The little whore surely enjoys calling me mother._

"I am exhausted," she replied politely and graced her glorious son with a warm smile. "In absence of my Lord Father it falls to me and my son the King to oversee the council meetings. This is rather tiring task these days."

"And boring," her glorious son added. "But a King has his duties."

"Of course," Margaery Tyrell agreed approvingly and took a sip from her silver cup, embellished with golden roses. _Roses, everywhere."_ And it is very admirable of you to show such dedication to your subjects, _my brave lion_. Tell me…What important matters did the council discuss today?"

 _My brave lion_ , Cersei muttered to herself. _I gave him this name and now the vile little whore dares to taint it._

"A match for the Stark girl," her glorious son replied and frowned. "I suggested my Uncle the Imp to show Robb Stark his place, but my Lord Grandfather insists that it has to be a proper match. In the end your Lord Father agreed to wed her to your eldest brother. He is your father's heir, isn't he?"

"He is," Margaery Tyrell replied enthusiastically and stuffed a fresh grape into her rosy mouth."Willas is indeed my father's heir. He will be pleased to have such a pretty wife."

If she was surprised by the news it didn't show on her pretty little face. _She knew it all along_ , Cersei was sure.

Lady Margaery's answer seemed to irritate her son, which pleased Cersei. _He is finally seeing through the whore's mask_

"Grand Maester Pycelle also mentioned that he is a cripple. Is it true?"

Lady Margaery paled a little, but her smile didn't falter.

"My beloved brother fell victim to an unfortunate accident. In his youth he was a promising knight, but he was hurt in a jousting match, which left his leg twisted. It pains him still, but my brother endures it bravely."

"He is still a cripple," her glorious countered and put the whore in her place. "A cripple shouldn't be heir to a prosperous lordship like the Reach. How did he keep your father from disinheriting him?"

Lady Margaery was now squirming like a fish pulled out of the water. Her face was slightly flushed and she was tugging on the hem of her dress.

 _Not even your rosy nipples can thwart him from seeing the truth._

"It is true…my brother has a twisted leg, but he has a good head on his shoulders. My Lord Father trusts him to rule the Reach in his absence and my Lady Mother would be quite cross with my Lord Father if he dared to disinherit Willas. He is her firstborn son. I am sure you understand what I am trying to say, your Grace?"

Much to Cersei's dismay, Joff started to smile and seemed to buy her lies.

"I understand what you are trying to say, my Lady. The wailing of woman never fails to lead men astray. I will not be such a weak King or man."

"Of course, your Grace," Lady Margaery agreed and forced a smile over her lips."A weak King cannot rule. Your Lord Father was valiant man…I am sure they will soon compose songs about your great deeds. Speaking of songs…Does his Grace enjoy music? I have several minstrels in my employ…," she continued, but the grimace on Joff's stopped him.

Nobody told the whore of Highgarden that her son is not fond of minstrels _. Stupid girl._

"I fear not," Joff replied coldly and brushed her hand away. "I hold no love for minstrels. Especially, the last one was a sore disappointment. I cut out his tongue. Keep your minstrels away from me, my Lady."

Margaery Tyrell didn't move, though she was still smiling. Even her little cousins stopped their irritating giggling.

"Of course," Lady Margaery said at last and swallowed hard. "There is nothing worse than a bad minstrel."

Then she drowned her goblet as in calm manner. Yet the whore continued to smile as if she was a doll instead of a living girl.

 _This girl is much more dangerous than I thought._

"Then let us speak about more enjoyable things," she declared in an enthusiastic voice and made an attempt to change the topic. "Our wedding, your Grace. I heard there will be a grand tourney. Will you partake?"

"Of course," her glorious son replied proudly. "Of course I will partake."

"No, it was not," Lady Margaery replied sweetly. "I was just just afraid I might be deprived of the honour to see you tilt."

"Well, then put your fears to rest, my Lady," her glorious son replied and patted her hand. "I would never deprive you of such an honour. Everyone will be there to pay witness to the victory of House Baratheon," he added and craned his head to look at Cersei. "Isn't that true, Lady Mother?"

"Of course," she confirmed. "I have already sent out the invitations, but it is questionable whether Robb Stark will agree to attend."

Displeasure was evident on her son's face, but she expected it.

"He would dare to refuse his King?" her glorious son demanded to know. She couldn't be prouder. _My son has the bearing of a true King._

"I have yet to receive an answer, but I heard his Lady wife is heavy with child."

"Of course," her son replied through gritted teeth. "But that is no excuse. I want him here."

Cersei graced her glorious son with a proud smile.

"Of course."

…

 **Davos**

A grey sky spread over Dragonstone as Davos watch the men stacking wooden logs. It was a pyre intended for their King.

Not far from the working men he spotted Queen Selyse and the Princess Shireen. The Queen chose to dress in black as did the Princess, but it gave the girl an even sadder expression than usual. He didn't see her cry, but not even her fool was able to conjure smile on her lips these days.

Davos shared the girl's somber mood. He lost three of his sons to the wildfire. Even now he saw the green light blinking before his eyes. Even finding his other son Daveth alive and well didn't help ease his grief.

 _I failed to protect them_ , he thought as his gaze fell on Lady Melisandre. She stood not far from the Queen, her red silken dress fluttering around her. Whenever he looked at her he felt hatred stirring in his stomach.

 _I should have killed her_ , he knew and yet he was unable to do it.

She promised them victory, but in end they were defeated by the forces of the Reach and the Westerlands. Victory was in their reach, but in the end the gods decided differently.

 _Have faith_ , she had told Queen Selyse not long ago. _Have Faith and the God of Light will answer._

 _Faith is not the answer_ , he had told the Queen in return. _We need to leave, to sail for Essos, to protect the Princess from the Lannisters._

Yet Queen Selyse ignored his council and continued to put her trust in Lady Melisandre. Queen Selyse's relatives were not different, though that was no surprise to him.

Most of them thought of him as a commoner, who was elevated beyond his status.

 _What use is their faith_ , he wondered not for the first time. _Do they think the King will return from the dead?_

 _No, the King is gone. All we have left is the Princess. She is the last trueborn Baratheon, the rightful Queen._

Maybe it was just another lie they were telling themselves, for when he looked at the pale and frightened girl, he saw no Queen. He only saw a lonely little girl.

 _The King ordered me to continue his work. I cannot forsake him._

"Now it ends," Ser Andrew Estermont remarked sadly and jerked his head at the procession. He was once the King's squire and like Ser Davos he held little love for Lady Melisandre and her prophecies.

"No," Ser Davos answered and shook his head. Tears burned in his eyes he watched the men hoist the King's body on the pyre. Stannis was a grim man and earned himself few friends, but Davos loved him still. "Now it begins. The Princess Shireen is our rightful Queen."

"True," Ser Andrew agreed and nodded his head. "But she is just a little girl and her disfigurement will always mark her. The King should have listened to your advice and legitimized his brother's bastard. Nobody can deny that he is King Robert's son."

"The King didn't want to place a bastard above his trueborn daughter, but in the end he made amendments to his will that took my advice into consideration. He named the boy Princess Shireen's heir. The condition for the boy's legitimization is Princess Shireen's _natural death_."

Surprise showed on Ser Andrew's solemn face.

"Nobody knows about the King's will but me and a few chosen men…I count you now among them," Ser Davos explained and continued to watch the proceedings. Both Queen Selyse and the Princess Shireen received a burning torch to light the pyre.

Quickly, the flames hopped from log to log, rising higher and higher into the sky. All of this was accompanied by Lady Melisandre's mournful singing.

The singing made him shiver, but the rising flames only helped to remind him of the previous battle.

 _At least the flames are not green_ , he thought and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. It was raining, fat droplets of rain falling from the sky.

 _Maybe the gods are weeping_ , he mused. _The gods we burned._

And yet he couldn't deny the Lady's powers. He saw her birth the shadow creature that slew Renly Baratheon.

 _Maybe that is why we lost,_ he thought. _Kinslayers are cursed by the gods._

His only consolation was that the King refused to agree to Lady Melisandre's last madness.

She wanted to burn Edric Storm, the last known living son of King Robert.

 _Kingsblood is power_ , she had told him, but it seemed in the end even the King lost his faith in Lady Melisandre's god.

It was the first time he saw a hint of doubt washing over Lady Melisandre's face.

 _Yet she is still here_ , he thought and listened to the sound of the rain and the rustling of the flames.

It was a strange combination. Fire and rain.

The pyre had collapsed when the first signs of dusk showed on the horizon. A red and yellow sky spread as far as his eye could see. It had finally stopped raining when one of the Queen's ladies brought the crown forged for their new Queen.

It was a slender thing of made of red gold wrought with small points that looked like flames.

The smith had worked day and night to forge this crown, but it gave Ser Davos no comfort to see it placed atop Princess Shireen's head.

Their little Queen didn't dare to speak. She remained silent as a mouse as her father's men gave their oaths of fealty.

 _She is just a little girl_ , he knew but the crown resting atop her head marked her as his Queen.

At last Ser Davos and Ser Andrew decided to join the others.

Queen Shireen graced him with a sad smile.

"Am I really the Queen?" she asked him, her gentle voice nearly drowned out by the howling of the wind.

"Of course you are," he confirmed and earned himself a sharp look from Queen Selyse, no Queen Mother Selyse. She never liked him, but even the Queen Mother had to accept the King's last will.

 _He named me Hand_ , Davos knew and felt a gust of warmth washing over him.

"Where have you been hiding, Ser Davos?" Queen Mother Sylse asked sharply. "Why did you not join us for the prayers? My husband named you Hand and yet you hide in the shadows.

"I was not hiding, your Grace," he explained and lowered his head."I was observing the proceedings in company of Ser Andrew."

"Ser Davos has no faith in our god," Lady Melisandre added softly. "That is why he has been hiding in the shadows. But don't be afraid, my Queen. The fires finally spoke to me. I saw our Queen seated on the Iron Throne with a King at her side. We will find this King in Essos."

"Essos?" Queen Mother Selyse. "You want us to go to Essos?"

"It is the only way, my Queen," the Lady Melisandre answered and lowered her head, but her eyes were still resting on Ser Davos.

He swallowed hard. He disliked the woman with every fiber of his being, but what she said is true.

He averted his gaze and looked at the young Queen, still clinging to her mother's hand.

"I have to agree with Lady Melisandre. We should leave as soon as possible. Essos is our greatest hope. I suggest we go to Braavos to speak with the Iron Bank. They could grant us gold to hire a sellsword company to reclaim your crown."

The little Queen looked at him fearfully.

"My Lord Father named you my Hand. We will do as you say, Ser Davos."

Touched by her trust, he knelt down and kissed his Queen's hand.

"I don't deserve your trust, but I will do my best."

…


	14. Shadows

**Daenerys**

It took only the blink of a moment before Rhaegon's flames engulfed the sheep. Sonarys' followed and turned the second sheep in a steaming piece of black meet. Viserion went about it the bloodiest way. Quick as a snake he buried his sharp fangs in the animal's neck and tore it apart limps and bones. The whole spectacle never failed to make Dany wince, but it was necessary. The dragons needed to eat. Especially, Viserion tended to grow unhappy when he wasn't properly fed.

If Ser Barristan shared her discomfort it didn't show on his face. On the contrary, his blue eyes were filled with awe.

"They are quite fearsome, aren't they?" Jon asked Ser Barristan.

The elderly knight nodded his head, his eyes still fixed at the dragons occupied with their supper.

"They are fearsome," he confirmed at last. "How old are they?"

"More than a year," Daenerys replied and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. It was getting colder. "It is hard to believe how quickly they continue to grow."

"And you are training them?" Ser Barristan asked.

"We do our best," Jon added and graced Daenerys with a knowing smile. "They learn fast, but they are not like dogs. They are not always obedient."

Daenerys returned his smile and jerked her head at the dragons.

"Do you want to see Ser Barristan?"

He gave her a confused look and wrinkled his grizzly brows.

Daenerys couldn't help but to laugh.

"I meant…Do you want to see me fly?"

Ser Barristan's mouth opened and closed, but no sound could be heard.

Even Jon started to laugh.

"They allow you to ride on them? Are they even big enough for such a feat?" he asked and jerked his head at Sonarys. The dragon had finished his meal lay curled on the ground.

"Rhaegon has yet to get used to it, but training them regularly is the only way to teach them," she explained and angled her head to look back at Jon."Jon is still too heavy, but in a few weeks from now we intend to try again. Wait and see."

Excitedly, she made her way to Rhaegon.

The smell of burned flesh filled her nostrils as she stepped closer. By now it was a familiar smell.

"Rhaegon! Māzigon kesīr!"

At once the dragon opened his ruby eyes and huffed. She felt his hot breath touch her skin and savoured the feeling. It felt like a warm embrace.

Every slowly, she stepped towards the dragon and touched his neck. His rough skin felt hot like a brazier, but to her it was the most pleasant of sensations.

"Ñuha dōna riña, rual nyke naejot kipagon," she whispered in his ear and waited. This was the deciding moment. Rhaegon disliked carrying her on his back when he was tired, but when he lowered his back she knew that she earned his agreement.

"Kirimvose, dōna riña!" she replied sweetly and grasped one of his scales to pulled herself up. Rhaegon remained still as she continued to climb up his back, but as always Daenerys felt a jolt of fear rushing through her body.

Seated atop Rhaegon's back she exhaled deeply and leaned down to give the last command.

"Sōvegon!"

At once her child straightened and started to spread his wings. Daenerys huffed and brushed her hair out of her face as Rhaegon flapped his wings. One, twice and a third time were enough to propel them into the air.

She felt as if her heart might jump out of her breast. The first time she nearly emptied her stomach, but by now she had gotten used to the feeling. At least she believed so, but when Rhaegon dipped lower, felt slightly dizzy.

"Paez! Paez!" she whispered to Rhaegon. Then she straightened herself and took a glimpse at the world below. Lhazar looked like a motely of green and brown. Even Ser Barristan and Jon looked like two small ants compared to the endless blue sky spreading above her head.

She wanted to stay like this forever, but she knew that Rhaegon would get grumpy if she demanded too much of him.

"Dōna riña, ivestragī īlva pālegon aril," she whispered to her child. The dragon seemed pleased by the command and dipped lower. Slowly, they soared downwards and landed on the plain below. Daenerys held close on the dragon's back as he buried his scales in the ground below, ripping out grass and roots alike.

"Sȳrī gaomagon!" she praised Rhaegon and climbed down from his back."Kirimvose."

Rhaegon huffed and threw plumes of smoke into the air.

She didn't know what his actions meant, but she took it as a sign of agreement.

With wobbly feet she arrived at the bottom and exhaled deeply, the familiar feeling of excitement still tingling on her skin.

"You look a bit pale around the face," Jon remarked with obvious amusement.

Ser Barristan simply stared at her and cleared his throat.

"Impressive," he complimented, his blue eyes still fixed on the dragons. "How far can they fly?"

"Hard to say…it depends on the day. The dragons are like children and they don't always obey," she explained and picked her cloak from Jon's hands.

Carefully, she wound it around herself and sat down. She needed to this to drive a way the excitement. "Especially, Viserion has a rather volatile temper. He has no rider and it will take years until Aemon is old enough to train him."

"It is still impressive," Ser Barristan insisted."Aegon the Unlikely dreamed of hatching dragons. Now, after such a long time his dream came finally true. You have yet to tell me…How did you accomplish it?"

Daenerys swallowed hard and shrugged her shoulders. She doubted he would believe her if she told him the full story. Even Jon didn't know the full truth.

"I put Jon's eggs into a burning pyre and they hatched. That was all."

Ser Barristan's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Jon's eggs…," he began and turned to look at Jon."From where did you acquire dragon eggs?"

"I found them in my mother's grave…I think they belonged to my father," Jon explained. "Do you know something about the eggs?"

"No," Ser Barristan replied and swallowed hard. "It seems there are a great many things I don't know about Prince Rhaegar."

He sounded so distraught that she felt the urge to comfort him. She was also curious to hear more.

She gathered all her courage and asked the question that had been lingering on her tongue since Ser Barristan appeared before her.

"You mentioned during our first encounter that I show a great resemblance to my Lady mother," Daenerys added softly. "Is it true or were you just trying to flatter me?"

"Of course not. You do show a great resemblance to the late Queen Rhaella. I have known her since she was a little girl."

His words made her heart well with happiness.

"My brother Viserys told me that our Lord Father cherished our Lady Mother," she said, trying to recall her blurry memories. "He also said that she was kind and very beautiful."

Ser Barristan paled and exchanged a silent look with Jon, before giving his answer.

"She was very kind and beautiful…above all she loved her sons, but her relationship with your Lord Father was rather strained. Theirs was not a marriage of love, but of convenience. It was King Jaehaerys who forced them to wed."

"Oh," she said and tried to hide her disappointment. "Well, Viserys was a child. I am sure my Lady Mother tried to hide her true feelings in front of him. But what I don't understand…Why did King Jaehaerys force them to wed? Was he so insistent on blood purity that he sacrificed his children's happiness?"

Ser Barristan exhaled deeply and nodded his head in understanding.

"It had to do with blood purity, but for a different reason than you might expect. King Jaehaerys insisted on the marriage, because he believed in a prophecy. Prince Duncan, the King's brother brought a woods switch to court, who prophesised the King that a promised prince will be born from his line. For you it might sound silly, but your brother Prince Rhaegar was also very fond of prophecies."

Realization washed over Daenerys.

"Rhaegar spoke about such a promised prince with our Grand-Uncle Aemon. He voiced his doubts that my late nephew Prince Aegon could be this promised prince."

"Well, he is dead," Jon added sourly. "I doubt Aegon can be a promised prince if he is dead. Did my father really believe in this nonsense?"

"Sadly, he did," Ser Barristan confirmed. "I have no proof for this, but Ser Arthur told me that Prince read something that caused a significant change in his character."

"What are you trying to say?" Jon asked and crossed his arms in front of him.

"Prince Rhaegar was a very bookish child and he hardly showed any interest in swordplay. At court they japed that Queen Rhaella swallowed books and candles before she birthed Prince Rhaegar. However, one day he stepped out in the courtyard and asked Ser Darry to instruct him in swordplay. From this day on he started to train like a madman and became an accomplished rider and swordfighter. Granted, he was not able to defeat Robert Baratheon, but I doubt even I would have been able to prevail against a mad stag like him. Well, coming back to the topic at hand…most people at court were sure that the Prince's change in character had its origin in his fondness for prophecies. I think for a time Prince Rhaegar believed himself to be this promised prince. At least that is what Ser Arthur Dayne implied to me. He and Prince Rhaegar were as close as brothers…if anyone knew Prince Rhaegar's mind it was Ser Arthur Dayne."

"But how does my brother Prince Aegon fit into all this?" Jon asked sceptically.

"I am not sure," Ser Barristan replied. "As I said before…I also believe that Prince Rhaegar thought he was this promised prince. Later, for whatever reason, he changed his mind and even tasked his Maester to watch the skies for signs. Prince Aegon was supposedly conceived when a bleeding star graced the sky. I didn't know what to make of it, but Prince Rhaegar was very happy after his son's birth. Even King Aerys was pleased and the bells rang day and night."

"And then he left my siblings and his wife Princess Elia," Jon remarked coldly. "Was it just infatuation or more?"

"I doubt the Prince intended the leave them," Ser Barristan countered quickly. "He doted on his children, but I admit his relationship with Princess Elia was rather complicated. He was fond of her, but I never had the impression that theirs was a marriage of passion. My personal impression was that, that Prince Rhaegar resented King Aerys' choice of a bride. Princess Elia's frail health and Prince Rhaegar's dislike for his father's overbearing nature certainly put a strain on their marriage. Princess Rhaenys' birth brought Prince Rhaegar much joy, but even this brief moment of happiness was dimmed by Princess Elia's failing health. She had to keep to bed for half a year and she had barely returned to court when King Aerys demanded of her to provide an heir for his dynasty. The following quarrel nearly led to Rhaegar's execution…," he trailed off.

Daenerys felt as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her head.

Even Jon looked shocked, his jaw tense like a bowstring.

"What did Rhaegar do?" Daenerys asked quietly.

Ser Barristan didn't answer immediately. He simply stared back at her with wide blue eyes. He looked conflicted, as if he was not sure if he should give her the truth.

"I don't know if…," he stuttered, which only strengthened her need for answers.

"Please tell me…I can take it," she assured him tensely. Every fibre of her body tingled with anticipation.

"He told the King to keep out of his private business and the King hurt him in the cruellest way possible…," he continued and stopped for a moment. Then he exhaled deeply, his pale blue eyes still fixed on Daenerys."The King took the Queen in front of the court and made Prince Rhaegar watch."

There was nothing to say. She felt only disgust.

Ser Barristan took all her delusions and tore them to pieces.

"And what did my father do?" Jon asked in a trembling voice.

"He watched," Ser Barristan said plainly. "That was all he could do. The King threatened to take his head if he dared to even make a noise. You see…King Aerys took great pleasure in torturing his loved ones and Prince Rhaegar was one of his favourite victims. Prince Aegon's birth a year later was a miracle, but Princess Elia suffered again. For six moons she had to keep to bed. It was quite a surprise to me that she even attended the tourney of Harrenhall. By then everyone knew that she wouldn't be able to bear another child. I don't know who spread these nasty rumours, but King Aerys was very displeased and stilled his rage by burning several of his loyal subjects."

"Maybe Princess Elia's barrenness was another reason for my brother's actions," Daenerys offered and recalled Rhaegar's words from her vision.

 _The dragon has three heads._

Ser Barristan frowned and pondered her words for a moment.

"Maybe," he agreed with a heavy sigh. "Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia behaved very strangely after the tourney. At first I didn't think much of it. Prince Rhaegar humiliated Princess Elia. Her anger was understandable, but it was not only the Princess Elia who started to shun Prince Rhaegar's presence. Even Ser Arthur Dayne started to distance himself from the Prince."

"Why is that strange?" Jon asked. "Ser Arthur Dayne was a Dornishman. Surely, he didn't approve of my father's actions."

"True," Ser Barristan confirmed. "But he was Prince Rhaegar's closest friend while the Princess Elia and Ser Arthur were never particularly close. But Ser Arthur's sister, Lady Ashara Dayne, was very close with the Princess Elia, which makes it even more surprising that it was the Princess Elia's order that led to Lady Ashara's removal from court. At first I thought it was the King's order, given Lady Ashara's delicate situation, but I heard much later that the cause was a quarrel between Lady Ashara and Princess Elia. These are mere rumours, but something very strange was going on behind the scenes. I doubt we will ever know the full truth, but the situation was more complicated than you can know."

"Delicate condition," Jon repeated silently, his dark eyes wide in realization. "Was Lady Ashara perhaps with child?"

Ser Barristan gave a hesitant nod.

"Who told you?"

"Nobody," Jon replied and swallowed hard. "Yet I heard rumours that Lord Stark and Lady Ashara Dayne were involved. That is at least what the servants told me."

"She was indeed with child and birthed a stillborn girl," Ser Barristan replied in sad voice and averted his gaze. "But I heard the child was fathered by Brandon Stark. It seems we heard conflicting rumours. Not that it matters…the Lady Ashara is dead and gone."

"How did she die?" Daenerys asked quietly and graced Ser Barristan with a soft smile.

When he lifted his head she noticed the tears shining in his blue eyes.

"She killed herself."

…

Daenerys found Jon awake, his back turned to her. She shivered as the blanket dropped from her shoulders and she quickly pulled back around her shoulders as she moved.

He was reading Robb's letter. Lord Wylis left a few days after his arrival, but Jon read the letter almost every night.

She didn't know what to make of it.

"Jon," she addressed him in calm voice. "How can you read without a candle?"

"I know the letter by heart," Jon answered quietly and folded the piece of paper. "I am now the Lord of Winterfell. Father was accused of treason and forced to join the Night's Watch. I know the truth and it doesn't matter to me. You are still my brother, come home. Your lady is also welcome. Your brother, Robb."

"Do you regret refusing Lord Wylis?" she asked fearfully and braced herself for the answer.

His head snapped around, his dark eyes piercing her through the darkness. She read guilt on his face.

"Going home would only endanger my brother," he explained softly. "But I feel as if I abandoned him. That is all."

Daenerys understood his feelings, but she cared little about Robb Stark. Jon spoke always very fondly of him, but Daenerys only knew him as the boy who sold her to his brother as an "act of generosity".

She didn't want to depend on Robb Stark. It felt not right and yet she didn't want to hurt Jon.

"I am sure he will understand," she replied and leaned closer to place a kiss on his cheek. "And you didn't abandon him. You left, because you thought it was the best way to protect him. One day we will go home."

"Maybe," Jon agreed and averted his gaze. "What Ser Barristan told us about King Aerys about your father and my grandfather…Was it too much?"

She was surprised by his sudden change of topic, but felt touched by his concern.

She shrugged her shoulders, but was unable to conceal her sadness.

"I should have known that he wasn't a good person when his subjects called him the Mad King," she added and wound the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Just thinking about her father's actions made her feel sick.

 _No wonder Rhaegar had a melancholic temper._ _Our father was a monster._

She shuddered again.

"Are you cold?" Jon asked her warmly and put his arms around her.

"I rather not think of him as my father," she added and leaned her head on his shoulder. "But I have to accept the truth. My father was a monster, which brings me back to our talk with Ser Barristan…," she trailed off and gathered her courage.

"You once told me that your Uncle and Grandfather were executed by my father's order," she forced the words over her lips. "What did this execution entail?"

Jon tensed, but answered nonetheless.

"I only know what Lord Stark told me. King Aerys had my grandfather burned alive and my Uncle Brandon strangled himself to death when he tried to save him."

She expected something like this after hearing about her Lady Mother's "dutiful marriage"; but it still hurt to hear it.

She bit her lips and let go of Jon, her purple gaze searching his.

"That was the reason you were so upset after the battle, wasn't it?"

He gave a silent nod.

"You are not like the Mad King," she insisted defiantly. "I didn't take pleasure in it and neither did you. That counts, doesn't it?"

"I hope so," Jon replied weakly. "I hope so."

…

 **Daario**

Daario felt the sweat running down his neck as he tried to understand the High Valyrian gibberish spoken by the Good Masters of Astapor. He spoke the crudest of bastard Valyrian, tinged with a Tyroshi accent he learned from his mother, a pleasure slave. His father must have been an ugly man, for his mother's Master had little use for him after her death and sold him off to the fighting pits. He proved himself as a fighter, but was eventually able to flee. Now he was back to face the very man that watched him kill other slaves in the fighting pits.

He told Jokin to fuck himself when he suggested coming here, but in the end he found himself overruled by both Jorkin and the Widower. They were in dire need of gold, even if it meant associating oneself with these men.

Sipping from his golden cup he observed the Good Masters on their gilded seats and clad in their bright tokars of lace and silk. The wine tasted sweet, but didn't help to wash away the uneasiness he felt in their presence.

He killed hundreds of men and met the cruellest of people, but these men were the lowest of rats. The Widower, who suffered a similar fate like him, shared his disgust, but didn't mind to gorge on the food in front of him.

The feast laid out for them was almost overbearing. There was roasted duck, heron, catfish and very small pigeons. All of this was flavoured with every spice known: salt, pepper, cumin, coriander, dill and fennel. Just the smell of the food made Daario believe that he stepped in the stall of a spice trader.

Daario was not the kind of man who tended to refuse a meal, but today he kept to the wine.

This very refusal to eat earned him a sharp look from one of the Masters.

His name was Kraznys something. He was graced with an oiled red beard and quite fat. The slave girls serving the wine were almost flat-breasted compared to this man, which was the reason Daario decided to dub him Master fat breast.

Daario couldn't help but to smile.

 _You thought you could impress me with your food. Well, I won't have any of it, but I will empty a few gallons of your finest wine. Just watch._

Kraznys frowned and leaned down to whisper in the ear of the slave girl kneeling beside his seat. The girl couldn't be much older than ten or elven.

She immediately straightened herself and her large brown eyes met his across the room.

"The Master asks if the food is not to your taste?"

"The food is fine," he told the girl and lifted his cup. "And the wine is even better, but I am never hungry when I do business. We are here to do business, are we not?"

The slave girl translated and Master fat breast frowned again. He looked as if the one of his pleasure slaves had pinched his balls too tightly.

"That is indeed why the Good Masters called you here," the slave girl answered and met his gaze. "We have need of the Stormcrows. The payment will be abundant."

"Good to hear," the Widower mumbled, his mouth stuffed with meat. Both his face and fingers were covered in grime. He looked like pig. "The enemy better be strong. My axe sings for blood."

Again the girl translated and again the Good Masters wrinkled their noses in disgust.

"The enemy is a worthy one," the slave girl spoke for her Master. "Your enemy will be the sheepmen. They supposedly command three dragons."

Jokin nearly choked on his wine, the Widower stopped his eating and Daario lifted his head to meet Master fat breats' face. Daario may not be able to understand their High Valyrian gibberish, but he was able to read falseness on a man's face. He found none.

 _Could it be true?_

"The Master understands your surprise, but he is not lying. Three dragons burned several thousand Dothraki screamers to ash," the slave girl added.

Daario poured down another cup of wine as he tried to make sense of this mad tale.

Jokin seemed equally confused and stroked his beard.

"How is that even possible?" he asked in disbelief. "Several thousand men…" he trailed off.

"We spoke to the survivors of this massacre. The Dothraki horde in question was lured in a trap and the enemy used oil to stir the flames cast by the dragons. The dragons are not bigger than horses. They can be killed. This I can assure you."

It still sounded like utter madness.

"Still…I don't see how we Stormcrows could make a difference against dragons," he replied bluntly. He was the son of a whore, but no fool.

Master fat breast didn't appreciate his bluntness and tightened his grip on the handle of his chair. Angrily, he grumbled his answer in the slave girl's ear.

"My Master marvels at your cowardice. We invited the Stormcrows to prove their valor and they thank us with this impertinence. There a dozen of sellsword companies to choose from…," the girl continued her translation. This was a load of bullshit and he was unable to keep his mouth shut.

"And that is what I don't understand," Daario said and poured down his cup of wine. "Why are we even here if you have other sellsword companies lining up for this mission. Let us be honest here. They refused you, didn't they? Nobody wants to end up as a pile of ash and you probably weren't prepared to pay the price they demanded."

The slave girl looked at him with wide eyes and her Master hit her right over the shoulder.

The answer came promptly.

"Nothing could be further from the truth," the girl said and rubbed her shoulder. "The Stormcrows wouldn't be the only ones employed for this mission. You would fight at the side of the Dothraki. Khal Drogo is vying for revenge and promised fifteen-thousand Dothraki screamers to do our bidding."

Daario felt the urge to laugh, but the Widower's grim silenced him completely.

 _I went too far._

"Why would the Dothraki accept such a mission?" The Widower inquired. "They never fight at the side of sellswords. They are far too proud for that."

"The Dothraki are hungry for revenge. They long to bathe in the blood of the sheepmen to regain their honor. And they will be richly rewarded if they fulfill their task to our satisfaction."

"Meaning what?" Daario asked stubbornly and met Master fat breasts' gaze. "Why do the Good Masters of Astapor care about the loss of a Dothraki horde?"

"A whole harvest was lost to us due to the Dothraki horde's defeat. Two thousand boy children were promised to us by the Khal, but we received nothing. We have several outstanding orders and we need to replenish the numbers of our young recruits. The Good Masters care not about the sheepman, but they dared to hinder our buisness. They need to be put in their place and the best way to teach them obedience is blood. We employed the Dothraki for this very purpose. Yours is to bring us the heads of these dragons," the girl replied in a raised voice. She probably tried to intimidate her Masters' authoritarian voice, but she still sounded like a child, despite the promise of blood echoing in her declaration.

"Dragons…Dothraki…sheepmen," the Widower grumbled."How much are you prepared to pay us for this mission?"

The slave girl translated the Widower's question and Master fat breast whispered his answer in the girl's ear. Then he slapped her with the whip and she rose to her feet, before rushing down the steps to whisper her answer in the Widower's ear.

Daario watched the Widower's face. He was by no means a coward, but the idea of facing dragons didn't sit well with him.

When the Widower's eyes widened he knew that there was no escape from this fight. Jokin was a fool. He would do anything for gold, even sell his own cock.

…

 **Arya**

Arya paced the room back and forth. Sitting still was impossible when her good-sister was enduring her birthing pains.

"Arya…Arya!" Bran's shouts called her back to the present. She stopped and turned around to find him covered in furs, Summer's head resting on his lap. "Your constant pacing drives me mad."

"This madness has been going on for hours…," she muttered more to herself than Bran. The very thought made her shiver from head to toe. "Will the waiting ever end?"

A few hours ago she tried to slip pass the servant girls to see her mother and spotted bloody sheets.

The memory was enough to make her feel sick.

She hardly knew Lady Roslin, but she couldn't help but to fret about her. She didn't want to lose another family member. It was enough that her Lord Father, Sansa and Jon were gone.

"Don't be afraid," Meera Reed added softly and graced Arya with a smile. It was no surprise to her when she found the young woman and her brother Jojen in Bran's chamber. "Birthing a babe can take its due time. My Lady Mother laboured for two days until Jojen was born. She is still with us."

Arya nodded her head and sat down. Arya knew nothing about childbirth, but her Lady mother's births were easy. At last that is what she her Lady Mother had told Lady Roslin when they spoke about the matter.

 _She probably wanted to comfort her._

"But Bran spoke of a bed of blood," she recounted her brother's words and turned to look at him. "Isn't bad?"

Bran paled and swallowed hard. Jojen Reed remained indifferent as ever. As always, Arya felt the sudden urge to kick him just to see if it would gauge any emotional reaction from him.

"Birth is always accompanied by a bed of blood. At least that is what my Lady Mother told me," Meera Reed explained sweetly and brushed her hand over Arya's untidy hair.

She did it in such a sweetly manner that Arya felt a gust of warmth washing over her. She didn't like her strange brother, but was beginning to like Meera Reed.

"I hope so," she fretted leaned down to brush her hand through Nym's fur. She lay sprawled beneath Bran's bed, her head resting on her pawns. It gave her the comfort she needed.

"It will be a girl," Jojen Reed said and broke the silence. "And Lady Roslin will perish. This I know."

Arya felt as if a gust of cold wind washed over her.

Even Meera Reed, who seemed used to her brother's behavior, swallowed hard.

"Why are you…," she began and opened her mouth, but Jojen Reed's piercing gaze silenced her.

"Stop hiding from the truth, sister," chided his sister and turned to look at Arya.

"Will this be proof for you to help us?"

Arya knew what he meant. Bran had pleaded with her numerous times, but every time she refused to help him.

 _I need to go beyond the Wall. Arya, please._

"Help you…You want me to help you?" Arya stuttered, unable to make sense of the sudden feelings of rage stirring inside her. She didn't answer and met Jojen Reed's green gaze.

"We do need your help," Jojen Reed confirmed indifferently as if the rest of the world meant nothing to him. It was the last straw.

She lifted her hand and slapped him hard on the face.

Her knuckles hurt, but it felt so good.

"Fuck your Three-Eyed-Crow!" she snapped back and whistled at Nym. Tiredly, her wolf joined her side as she opened the door. "I don't want anything to do with your stupid greensight…," she muttered, but when she saw Bran's pleading look she stopped.

"Arya," he said, his blue eyes wet with tears. "Jojen didn't mean it like that. Please help us."

"No!" Arya returned bluntly. "No!"

"Arya," Bran pleaded again. He sounded so desperate. It made her heart clench. "He can help me…I will be able to walk again. Don't you want me to get better?"

"Of course, but…no," she stuttered and remained steadfast in her decision. "Why do you trust this stupid crow so much? Master Luwin knows much more than a stupid bird."

"Maester Luwin knows nothing," Jojen Reed added coldly and rubbed his red cheek."Winter is almost upon us and the Others are coming. Bran is the last greenseer and we will all perish if he doesn't learn to master his abilities."

"I don't understand you," she muttered and tightened her grip on the handle of the door.

"That is not necessary," Jojen Reed countered. "But we need your help to leave Winterfell. I know this, because I saw it...as I saw your brother…Jon Snow. You are desperate to know where he went, don't you?"

Arya knew what a game he was playing, but she couldn't help it.

"Where is he?" she demanded to know. "Tell me."

"I see a city with red walls…walls of blood. The name of this city is Astapor. There you will find your brother."

"Astapor…," she muttered and tried to recall the name. She only knew that it was a place in Essos.

 _Maester Luwin's maps will help me_ , she knew and exhaled deeply. _No, I can't even think about that. Mother and Robb would never forgive me._

She gritted her teeth and flashed Jojen an angry look.

"I don't believe you! Leave me alone!"

Then she slammed the door behind her and rushed back into her room.

Tears burned in her eyes as she donned her cloak and slipped through the darkness. The guards were half-asleep and didn't see her as she made her way to the godswood. It was her place of hiding, her place of comfort. It was the place her Lord Father chose to visit when he wanted to find peace.

Fresh snowflakes were falling from the starry sky as she stepped before the heart tree, its bleeding face a welcome sight. Sansa was always afraid of the face, but for Arya it was as familiar as the face of her Lord Father.

She pulled her cloak tighter and knelt down beneath the tree. Nym joined her side and nuzzled her neck as Arya closed her eyes and touched the white bark.

It came all so suddenly that she barely registered it. It was a tingling sensation that washed over her body and made her shiver. It felt as if someone tried to slip into her mind.

She tried to open her eyes, but she lost all power over her body as the images started to take form before her eyes.

 _She saw her Lord Father swallowed by a snow storm. She saw a beautiful maid share a kiss with her brother Robb. She saw a girl with silver hair mount a black-winged beast. She saw Joff, his face purple and his jade eyes staring back at her in horror. She saw Sansa riding over a field of flowers. She saw a blue-winged beast that bathed richly-dressed men in a sea of flames…_

Their cries echoed in her ears. Terrible cries…that made her blood freeze.

At once the images disappeared and she collapsed. Slowly, she opened her eyes and found herself sprawled in the snow.

Her breathing was laboured and she could hear the pounding of her heart.

She couldn't stop trembling.

 _It can't be true!_

Only when she felt Nym's wet tongue on her cheek did she find the strength to pull herself back to wobbly feet.

 _It has to be a lie!_

She didn't even find the strength to call for Nym. She felt so cold. She needed warmth.

With clattering teeth she returned to the castle. She was so disoriented that she didn't even think of using her usual way.

Even the sleep-deprived guards noticed her.

"Lady Arya!" they shouted after. "Lady Arya!"

She ignored them and fled to the safety of her room. Cold and weary, she wrapped herself in her furs and tried to forget about these visions.

...


	15. Sunshine and Rain

**Jon**

It took all his concentration to meet Ser Barristan's blows. Up and down, left and right the blades met, bringing forth a jingling sound. Ser Barristan could be his grandfather, but his blows were powerful and left Jon's arm aching. It was the wound from his maiden battle against the Dothraki.

Ser Barristan was also incredible quick. Again the blades kissed and parted. Jon gritted his teeth and stepped backwards to gather strength for his next attack. This time he aimed at Ser Barristan's left side. It was the weaker one.

 _An old war wound_ , he guessed and brought down his blade. Jon didn't know how, but the elderly knight seemed to anticipate his actions and parried the blow easily. Jon considered himself a good swordsman, but the mock battle made him aware how much he had yet to learn.

"I think that is enough," Ser Barristan remarked and graced him with a smile. "I think I am in dire need of a break."

Jon was stunned by his answer and lowered his blade. Ser Barristan's brow was covered in sweat and his breathing a little labored, but he looked otherwise unaffected.

"I am the one that is sweating like a pig," Jon replied and sheathed his blade. "And you are quick like a cat. How did you know that I would aim at the left side?"

"Your footwork," he replied and sheathed his own blade. "And your movements. You put too much strength in them. Fight calmer and your enemy won't be able to anticipate your next attack."

Jon couldn't help but to frown. He was sure that Ser Barristan meant well, but he still expected better of himself.

"Don't fret, my Prince," Ser Barristan assured him amusedly _. He sure loves teasing me with this title._ "You swordplay just needs refinement. Whoever thought you did well. Besides, you are still young. I was no Arthur Dayne at your age. I have years of practice and I have seen hundreds of battles."

"I have only seen two battles," Jon answered and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. Then he craned his head to look at Daenerys.

She was seated next to Larsha and had watched them while preparing arrows for their next hunt.

"Knowing our luck these won't be the last battles," Daenerys remarked with a smile. "But I agree with Ser Barristan. You are still in training."

Her encouragement helped to ease his disappointment and he returned her smile.

 _I still need to get better_ , he knew and his gaze fell on Aemon stumbling after the other children. _It is the only way to protect them. I cannot solely depend on the dragons._

"Jon," Daenerys called out to him and held out his cloak. He picked it from her hands and pulled the garment over his shoulders. She gave him a fleeting smile. "Are you perhaps nervous? You are a bit pale around the face."

He shook his head and tried to overplay his fear. He had tried mounting Sonarys before, but his weight made it hard for him.

"I am fine," he assured her Daenerys and swallowed hard. She nodded her head and leaned closer to pat Larsha's shoulder.

"Would you take Aemon home?" she asked Tito's sister. "The dragons need to be fed."

"Sure," Larsha replied and gathered the arrows in her arms."Aemon is in good hands. Today is the great day, isn't it?"

Jon didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid.

It looked so easy whenever Daenerys did it, but Jon wasn't as confident.

 _What if Sonarys decides to throw me from his back?"_

…

The sun was sinking behind the hills when they arrived at the dragons' lair and the sky above was painted in a soft pink color. It promised a cold night.

"Ñuha riñar! māzigon kesīr!" Daenerys called out to the dragons.

It didn't take long before the dragons made their presence known. Viserion's silver wings glittered in the dying sunlight as he descended on the ground not far from their position.

Even from afar Jon was able to feel his hot breath. It was the smell of burned flesh and blood.

The sheep started to cry out in fear when they noticed Viserion's presence, but that was no surprise. Viserion was the most bloodthirsty of the dragons. Even Jon feared him at times.

Next appeared Rhaegon. His dark wings blocked out the sunlight as he descended upon the scorched plain below the hill. His red-black scales pulled out trees and roots as he landed on the ground. The whirled up dust made Jon's eyes water, but the sheep had it worse. They went mad. Their shrieking grew louder and louder. Jon felt almost like an executioner. He did this every day, but today it felt different. Maybe it was his impending flight that woke these feelings inside him.

At last Sonarys arrived, his blue skin barely distinguishable from the sea. He didn't roar nor did he throw flames in the air like his two brothers. He landed in the quietest way possible and turned around to look at Jon.

Jon had the feeling that dragon knew about his plans.

 _Today is the day._

"Jon…it is time," Daenerys reminded him. He shook his head and brushed away his fears.

"Of course," he replied and freed the sheep. The animals fled in fear, but their feet were nothing compared to the dragons' wings.

Viserion roared and hunted one of them below the hill, before he snapped from the sky and caught the animals with his sharp fangs.

The sheep was barely able to squeak, before it was dismembered. Rhaegon was less cruel and gave his meal a quick death. Exposed to the flames there was soon nothing more left, but blackened meat..

Sonarys killed his sheep with a quick bite to the neck and was now disemboweling his supper with great eagerness.

"Don't be afraid," Daenerys whispered and touched his shoulder. Focused as he was on the dragons he hadn't even noticed her approach. "He will accept you. I am sure of it."

She looked confident, but even Jon noticed the slight tremor in her hands. Her concern warmed his heart and gave him the confidence he needed. Jon nearly pissed himself in fear when she mounted Rhaegon for the first time. Even now he was afraid when she did it, but there was no other way. It was bad enough that Viserion had no rider. The dragons needed guidance.

"I know," he replied and lifted her hand to place a kiss on her hand. "All will be well."

Then he exhaled deeply and shifted his attention to Sonarys. Ever slowly, he approached the dragon, sitting over the disemboweled body of the sheep.

Noticing Jon's presence Sonarys lifted his head. Jon saw a speck of his own reflection in the dragon's eyes. It looked like a dark shadow moving over a golden surface.

 _He can sense my fear._

"Sonarys," he called out to the dragon and touched his neck. His skin was hot like a brazier, but the dragon seemed to enjoy the attention, for he leaned into Jon's touch.

"Kessa ao rual nyke naejot sōvegon aōha arlī?" he repeated the question Daenerys instilled into him and braced himself for the dragon's reaction.

The dragon shrieked and lowered his back to the ground. Jon marveled at the dragon's intelligence. Ghost was a quick learner, but it felt as if Sonarys understood every word.

Again the dragon roared, hot puffs of smoke rising in the air. _Get on with it_ , the dragon seemed to tell him.

 _Very well_ , Jon muttered to himself and lifted himself up. Slowly, he climbed up the dragon's back and tried to be as mindful as possible. He didn't want to burn himself.

Arriving at the top he became aware of the dragon's pulse. It felt like a powerful heartbeat that filled the dragon's body with a vibrating sensation.

Again the dragon roared and Jon met his gaze.

He took one last breath before he gave the last command.

"Sōvegon!"

Jon held on the dragon's back as if his life depended on it when Sonarys started to flap his wings. Once, twice and a third time was enough to propel them in the air.

Jon felt a hint of dizziness as the world beneath his feet shrunk to nothingness. The green and yellow plains of Lhazar stretched as far as the eyes could see. Even the high walls of Lhazar were nothing, but a speck of white. The sky above was reminiscent of the sea, endless and breathtaking.

Jon understood now why Daenerys loved to fly. Seeing the world like this was marvelous. All fear left him in this moment triumph.

He couldn't help but to laugh.

"Egilkta!" he called out to the dragon and he obeyed his command.

Again the dragon flapped his wings and propelled them upwards. For a moment it felt as if Jon would drown in the pink sky spreading above.

Jon wanted to remain longer, but Sonarys had other plans. He started to roar and threw plumes of smoke in the air.

 _Enough_ , the dragon seemed to tell him.

"Very well," Jon replied with a smile and the Sonarys' back."Ilagon."

Obviously satisfied with his answer the dragon dipped lower, back where his other two brothers dug their resting places deep in the ground.

"Paez!" Jon added when the dragon descended on the scorched plain."Paez!"

Again the dragon roared and again Jon held onto his back as if his life depended on it.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, but when the movement stopped he realized that he was still sitting atop Sonarys' back.

 _It rode a dragon_ , he realized in amazement. _And I am still here._

Again Sonarys roared and lowered his back.

"You want me gone, don't you?" he asked in amusement as he started to climb down from the dragon's back.

His feet felt wobbly as he walked, but he was otherwise unharmed.

"How was it?" Daenerys asked him after he found her seated beneath the hill.

He couldn't stop grinning like a fool.

"Wonderful," he replied and pulled her in his arms. She leaned in his touch and smiled up at him. She looked so beautiful, her cheeks flushed and her lips rosy like the sky above. "I didn't think flying could be this wonderful."

"Your fear blinded you," she answered with obvious amusement, a smile curling on her lips.

"I was indeed a little afraid…," he admitted openly and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"Only a little?" she asked and leaned closer, her warm breath tickling his cheek.

"Alright, I was pissing myself in fear," he finally admitted and leaned down to kiss her lips. Her lips were soft and warm, stirring something inside him he had buried for the last weeks. Robb's letter brought him only pain and guilt. Even when he was planning to join the Night's Watch he had been hoping that Robb would ask him to stay. Robb was his brother, but he couldn't help but to harbor resentment towards him. The Robb he knew would have never defied his Lady Mother. What changed? Was it because he knew the truth? Not that it mattered. That was the past and his place was here.

It was still hard for him to accept, but he was both a wolf and a dragon. He had nursed doubts, but the ride on the dragon helped to strengthen his belief. _Sonarys accepts me. Bastard or not, I am also a Targaryen._

"Where is your mind?" she asked him, her lips moving against his.

"Right here," he replied and pulled her closer, one hand buried in her hair and the other resting on her shoulder.

She chuckled, but was silenced when he crushed his lips to hers. Her hands went to his hair and she pulled hard.

She always liked doing that. It was a pleasant kind of pain. He needed no further invitation.

Then he leaned down and kissed her again. Together they stumbled in the grass. The dragons roared and Jon rumbled with laughter.

Again her hands pulled on his hair. He laughed and kissed her beneath the jaw. His kisses were soft and feather light.

She seemed to like it and giggled happily.

"You definitely have to ride your dragon more often," she remarked cheekily.

"It's Sonarys who has to agree," he whispered against her lips and started to brush up her dress. Her skin was pale and soft like silk.

It was not the first time he did this, but he marveled at her reaction. She gasped and moaned as he tasted her.

"Jon," she whispered and grabbed his hair. As always, he stopped when it was too much for her and lifted his head. He wiped his mouth and looked down at her, head rolled back and her purple eyes wide and blown.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked breathless and fumbled with the laces of breeches. He helped her, kissing her eagerly.

She stroked him and he gasped against her cheek. She was driving him mad.

"Stop," he said hoarsely and grasped her hand. "Stop."

She laughed and did as he asked of her. Her hand wandered back to his cheek and opened her thighs to cradle his body between her legs.

She whimpered against his cheek as he pushed into her. The feeling was too much and he stopped himself for a moment, savoring the feeling.

He moved hesitatingly, but he was unable to hold himself back when her fingers started to dig into his back. By the tenth time he grabbed her hand and thrusted deeper. Daenerys kissed him suddenly, hot puffs of air leaving her mouth.

It was enough to send him over the edge. Stars burst before his eyes and his other hand grabbed the grass beside her head as the last tendrils of pleasure washed over him.

It took him a moment to recover, his head resting on her chest. It was the song of the dragons that called him back to the present.

He wanted to slip out of her, but she grasped his shoulder.

"Stay a while longer. Let me hold you," she whispered. Her words warmed his heart, though he couldn't fathom how this position was pleasant for her.

"We should get going. Don't you need to drink your tea?" he asked, already half asleep. He could have stayed like this forever, but he knew how dedicated she was when it came to this, though it confused him at times.

"I am surprised you remember that," she said and smiled sweetly.

"You didn't do that before Aemon and now you are so dedicated. It just confuses me."

She sighed, her eyes narrowed in irritation.

"I can hardly ride a dragon if I am heavy with child," she replied jestingly. "And Tito's mother told me to wait. That is why I am drinking her tea with so much dedication."

The last part she said in a low voice as if she wanted to avoid talking about it.

Then she loosened her grip from his shoulder and tried to move away. He followed her wishes and rolled away, still confused by her behavior.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and avoided his gaze.

"Are you telling me everything?"

Her words confused him.

"What do you mean?"

"Every day you are staring at your brother's letter. Today was the first time in weeks that I saw you smile."

"My dark mood had nothing to do with you," he assured her and touched her shoulder. She shrugged him off and turned around. "I told you the reason and I have been thinking…thinking what we are going to do once Lord Wylis returns…," he trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"I don't want to go to Winterfell," she said, before she was even able to form a sentence. Her answer was surprising and rather blunt. _Why didn't she tell me before?_

He looked at her and she continued.

"I don't want to go begging to your brother to allow us to stay. Everyone there will think me your whore and the Mad King's daughter. Besides, neither the Lannisters nor Baratheons would tolerate us or the dragons. You said so yourself."

She said this in such a quick manner as if these thoughts and feeling had been long simmering beneath the surface of her mind.

"I know that," he replied quickly. "The only way would be to take the crown. That is why I am waiting for Robb's answer. We are in need of support and I trust him."

"But I don't trust him," she said almost coldly, but corrected herself quickly. "I mean…I don't want to solely depend on him…if we are going to do what you suggested. I don't even know if I want that. I hate this Twyin Lannister for what he did to my niece and nephew, but I don't think it is right to pursue the crown for the sole purpose of revenge. Besides, there have to be other people that could Support us. Ser Barristan's thinks Rhaegar's former allies could help us."

"Ser Barristan is an old man…I doubt he has spoken to my father's so-called allies in a long time. But I agree with you…taking the crown shouldn't be done out of revenge, but it would be the only way for us to return to Westeros.

"Westeros," she repeated. "You call it home, but for me it is a foreign land. Maybe we are meant to be here to protect the Lhazareen from the Dothraki. Isn't that a worthier goal than to win a crown? Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"I do," he confirmed and leaned over to touch her hand. "And I agree with you. The Lhazareen need protection. I wasn't aware that you harbor such dislike for my brother. You need to tell me these things. I cannot read your mind."

"Neither can I," she replied more softly, her purple eyes searching for his. "It is just...everyone I know left me. I am just afraid that you will do the same."

Her words felt like a slap to the face.

"Leave you?" he gasped. "I would never leave you. I love you…I just thought you wanted to take the crown as is your birthright. Especially, with Ser Barristan joining us..."

"I appreciate Ser Barristan's presence, but I am well aware how hard it would be to seize the throne. We have dragons, but no army. Dragons can die. Even Aegon the Conqueror's dragons were not invincible. But I don't want to go begging to your brother, because I fear he would only support us to take revenge against the Lannisters. I hardly recall Viserys, but what I do recall is his constant obsession with the past. I don't want to end up like him," she replied and tightened her grip on his hand. "I do love you, but I don't love your brother…I doubt I ever will. He bought me."

He swallowed hard, but it was true.

"You don't want to depend on my brother," he acknowledged her position. "I understand that. We will stay here."

When a hesitant smile crossed over her lips he felt a hint of a relief washing over her.

"And you mean that?" she asked.

It irritated him that she didn't believe him, but he also knew how it felt to be alone. It also hurt him that she thought he would leave her.

"Of course I mean it…Lying was never a habit of mine," he replied and touched her cheek.

She looked at him with wide purple eyes and bit her lips. She looked unsure as if she was torn on something.

"About the tea…I should have told you a long ago. Aemon's birth was not easy….stepping into the pyre saved my life. At least that is what I believe."

He didn't know what to say. It took him a moment to make sense of her words.

"So you did step in the pyre?" he asked disbelievingly and befuddled by this revelation. He saw her burned off hair, but it was still hard to believe. "And you didn't burn?"

"I didn't burn," she confirmed and touched his hand still resting on her cheek. "I don't know how it happened. I was bleeding heavily. I should have died, but I didn't… Tito's mother thinks should wait a while longer, before we attempt to have another child. That is why I am drinking the tea."

He didn't know what to say and pulled his hand away. He felt anger, but also fear.

"Are you angry?" she asked fearfully, her voice soft and distant to his ears.

"Of course I am angry!" he snapped and tried to calm his emotions. "You could die. And this tea…this tea really… works?"

Her eyes widened in fear and he instantly regretted his sharp words, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't fathom the thought of losing her.

"The tea works."

When he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes he brushed is anger away and leaned over to embrace her.

"Forgive my harsh words. I didn't mean it...I was just angry."

She held him closer and buried her head in his neck. Then she pulled back and leaned closer, their lips barely touching.

It was the anxious shrieking of the dragons alarmed them.

"I think someone is coming," Jon remarked and quickly started to lace up his breeches. Daenerys brushed down her dress and came to stand beside him.

Jon also rose to his feet and cast his way in the distance. He relaxed when he realized that it was Tito.

"Jon," he greeted and climbed from his horse. His hair was windswept and his bearing tense. "I bring bad tidings. It seems the Dothraki horde has returned."

…

 **Catelyn**

Robb looked like a ghost. His face was pale like fresh-fallen snow, his cheeks gaunt and his hair was untidy. Again she found him grouching over his correspondence.

In one hand he held his quill and with the other hand he was tapping a blank piece of parchment. Greywind seemed to share her son's dark mood. He lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless and devoid of his usual energy.

 _This madness needs to end_ , she knew and gathered her courage.

She exhaled deeply and entered. The sound of her footfalls moving on the stone floor alarmed Greywind, but the wolf remained where he was, his eyes following after Catelyn as she passed.

Robb didn't move either, but he lifted his head and his blue eyes met hers. They were red-rimmed and underlined by dark cringes. The sight made her wince.

"Mother," he said and finally acknowledged her presence. "I called for you, didn't I?"

"You did," she confirmed plainly and moved closer. "You look tired. You should rest. It will help."

He shook his head and brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face.

"This will help…work. Something to distract my mind," he replied and pulled out several folded papers.

Catelyn sighed in exhaustion. For two days she had sat Lady Roslin's bedside, trying her best to comfort her, but in the end it was no use. Not even Maester Luwin had been able to stop the bleeding. The old Maester was even more distraught than Robb, though Catelyn had told him numerous times that he had not reason to feel guilty.

It happened to the best of women, her mother among them. Robb was there only at the end, yet he took it the worst. He acted as if he murdered her in cold blood and Catelyn couldn't accept that.

 _He has no reason to feel guilty and he has a child to take care of. It is a girl, but a healthy one._

"Distracting your mind won't help," she told him and leaned down to squeezed his hand. He pulled away and handed her one of the folded letters.

"I should have shown you this for a long time, but it took me a while to make the all the necessary inquiries. This letter here was written by Maester Aemon Targaryen, but these are father's words. It seems he entrusted the old man with his knowledge. It concerns a man known to you…Petyr Baelish…now the Lord Protector of the Vale."

Cat gasped and balanced herself against the table.

"Petyr is Lord Protector of the Vale?" she asked in utter disbelief."But…," she stuttered, unable to find the right words.

"It is true. Lord Royce confirmed it in our last correspondence. Petyr Baelish wed our Aunt Lysa a moon ago, but that is not the only interesting fact about this man," he added and waved the folded piece of paper in front of her eyes. "Read it."

Cat picked the letter from his hand read slowly. The Maester's writing was much more refined than Ned's, but these were clearly his words.

 _Petyr Baelish is a traitor. He promised to bring the Gold Cloaks to my side, but he betrayed me to the Queen. Do not trust him. All my confessions were as false as King Joffrey's birth right. The Queen confessed her crimes to my face. All her children are bastards._

Catelyn folded the paper and handed it back to Robb.

"What do you make of it?" Robb asked and gave her a weary look.

"But why?" she asked. "Why would Petyr do this?"

Robb frowned and put the piece of paper away.

"I don't know this Petyr Baelish, but I think I have an idea," he said and put the parchment back on the table. "The answer is simple: rejected love. Uncle Brandon fought this Petyr Baelish for your hand. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"Rejected love," she repeated and knew exactly what he was trying to say. The realization left her breathless. "Do you think he did it to get rid of your father?"

"Maybe," Robb said and nodded his head. "But I don't think this is his only motivation. Revenge perhaps and thirst for power... How do you think did he convince Aunt Lysa to wed him? Lord Royce informed me that the King gave his approval, but nothing more. What do you think?"

Cat didn't know what to think. Her mind was still mulling over Ned's words.

 _Gods_ , she thought and clutched her chest. _I told Ned to trust him._

"Mother," Robb called her back to the present. "I need your advice, before I decide on this matter. I have never met Aunt Lysa. Do you think she wed him willingly or not?"

She swallowed hard and sat down in a nearby chair. She closed her eyes for a moment and answered Robb's question.

"Lysa was in love with Petyr since we were little girls. I have no doubt that she wed him willingly."

"That is what I feared," Robb grumbled and brushed his hand over his face. "And that is why she didn't help us. She has been under his thrall from the very beginning."

Cat tightened her grip on the handle of her chair and leaned forward to search her son's pale face.

"Do you think he planned it all?"

Robb's grim look told her everything she needed to know.

"I have no proof for this, but I think this Petyr Baelish is the missing piece in our puzzle. However, I don't think he had anything to do with Bran's fall. That was clearly the Kingslayer's work. Yet I think he intentionally mislead you to blame the assassination attempt on Bran's life on Tyrion Lannister. And there is this letter written by Aunt Lysa's hands. These are far too many coincidences."

"Indeed," Cat agreed, but was still unable to believe it."Do you think Lysa knew of his plans?"

"I think so, mother," Robb replied. "But I have no proof. That is why I want you to travel to the Vale."

"To the Vale?" she asked in confusion. "But Lysa would never tolerate me…," she said, but Robb cut her off.

"This Lord Baelish is now in charge. I think he might very well greet you with open arms. I think he is using Aunt Lysa. I think he is still hankering after you. Why else betray father?"

"Maybe," she agreed and folded her hands in her lap. "But what would be the purpose of my visit there?"

"To gather information and to arrange a marriage," Robb replied promptly.

"You want to marry so soon after…," she began, but stopped when she noticed the dark expression washing over his even-shaped face. "Forgive me."

He shook his head.

"Not for me. I want you to arrange a marriage between Lady Ysilla Royce and Uncle Edmure. I already have his approval in this matter if you are afraid he might be offended. He agreed after I wrote him about father's accusations against Lord Baelish. The Blackfish is also aware of this arrangement…it was in fact his idea. Lord Royce agrees as well."

Realization washed over her, but also disappointment.

"Why were you so hesitant to tell me about your plans?"

"I am the Lord of Winterfell," he replied determinedly. "I cannot rely on my mother forever. I need to stand on my own feet."

She felt both proud and sad. _My boy is growing too fast._

"I understand," she replied and lowered her head in acceptance. "I assume you want me to get Petyr's approval."

"Exactly."

Cat swallowed hard and felt the urge to refuse.

"Robb…I don't know if I can do that. I don't think I can look Petyr in the eyes without strangling him to death."

"I know," Robb replied more softly. "But it is the only way to get justice for father and to protect the Riverlands. I doubt my peace with Tywin Lannister will last forever. The Riverlands are vulnerable. I want to make sure that we have the Knights of the Vale at our side. I know that not all of them would be prepared to defy the Lord Protector of the Vale, but Lord Royce cherishes his past friendship with father. A marriage with Lady Royce would secure his help for the next fight and with luck the other lords might follow his example."

"I understand, but I know Petyr. He will see through your plan."

"My plan maybe," Robb said. "But not yours. Make him believe that it was your idea. You want a worthy bride for your brother who ought to be a long time married. Make him believe that he is doing you a favour. Play the grieving widow…do everything you can do gain his trust."

Cat couldn't believe her ears. She didn't like the idea, but Petyr needed to pay for his crimes. _For Ned._

"I understand. I will do as you ask."

"Good," Robb said and sighed in relief."I thank you, mother."

Then he leaned over and picked up another parchment.

It was made of a fine material, the broken sigil of House Baratheon visible on the front.

"From King's Landing," Robb said. "Dark wings, dark words. The King invited me to his wedding. To humiliate me I suppose. He also informed that Sansa is going to wed Willas Tyrell."

She nodded and swallowed hard. _It is a good match. Why is he so angry?_

"You can't go. Your father…," she began, but Robb's sharp gaze silenced her.

"I must go. Tywin Lannister is far too cautious to harm me. He won't risk a war. I intend to play along to cover our plot."

"Allow me to go in your stead," she offered. "I will go to the wedding."

"Don't be ridiculous, mother. It would be an outright insult if I sent you there as my substitute. You captured Lord Tywin's son. Have you forgotten?"

"I did not," she said and bit her lips. _This rebuke was meant to silence me_."Very well. Go and get yourself killed."

His gaze softened.

"I know you are afraid," he declared determinedly. "But I won't hide away from King Joffrey."

"Robb…," she muttered. "You bent the knee…you gave your vow."

"Fuck my vow…it was forced upon me. Stannis and Renly are dead. Tywin thinks his grandson's position is secured, but that couldn't be further from the truth. When the time comes we will have someone to rally around. I sent Lord Manderly to find Jon…and his lady."

"Robb...!" she gasped. "You don't know what you are talking about. The boy ran away with a whore…he probably married her. The Lords of the Seven Kingdoms would laugh at us."

"Whore or not," he replied surprisingly cold. "I rather see Jon on the throne with his so called whore than a cruel little shit like Joff. And what is Margaery Tyrell other than a whore in a wedding gown? She just gets a crown instead of coin. What is the difference?"

"There is a difference," she insisted and tried to hide her shock over his crude choice of words. _What happened to my boy? When did he become this bitter?_ "Lady Margaery Tyrell is a lady of noble stock…" she tried to explain, but Robb didn't want to listen.

"And Joff is a bastard of incest," Robb ended for her. "It surprises me that you are defending him…a bastard."

She couldn't help but to feel anger stirring up inside her.

"So that is what this is all about?" she asked defiantly and rose to her feet. "What do you want me to do? Approve of Snow's actions? Love him? He may not be Ned's bastard, but associating ourselves with him could cost us our heads. Ned lied to me for fourteen years...I endured enough. Leave me at peace."

She had spoken these words with so much bitterness that even Robb stared back at her in silence.

She felt a hint shame, but she remained adamant in her position. _Someone has to show reason._

"I am not the Lord of Winterfell and I have any right to tell you what to do, but I am still your mother. I call this madness. That is all I am going to say on this matter."

She expected another rebuke, but nothing of the sort happened.

"Your objections are noted." he muttered and fell back into his chair. He looked so weary as he leaned down to stroke Greywind's head. "Please leave me now. We will speak later."

She couldn't leave like this, even if his words hurt her deeply.

"I am not going to leave. There is another matter that deserves your attention. You have a child…a child without a name."

"I don't have time for this," he excused himself, but she wanted to hear none of it.

"I have no time for this," she repeated his words and stepped closer. "Running away from this won't solve your problem."

He averted his gaze.

"You know why I can't do it. I killed her…and the worst. I hardly showed her any attention. I was so occupied with my own problems."

"That is your guilt speaking," she said and knelt down next to him. "But you have child. You owe your wife to take care of the babe."

When he lifted his head she noticed the tears shining in his eyes.

"Very well…," he answered in a trembling voice and rose to his feet. Greywind followed suit, but Robb shook his head.

"Stay," he whispered to the wolf and opened the door for her. She didn't speak as she followed after him.

They put the babe's nursery in Sansa's old chamber. It was still hard to look at the room, without thinking of her little girl. Catelyn feared the worst, but now she felt only relief.

The heir to Highgardnen was a worthy match. Better than King Joffrey.

The nursemaid gave them a surprised look and nearly jumped out of her seat.

She obviously didn't expect Robb's appearance.

"I apologize…," she said, but Robb gave her a weary smile and waved his hand. She nodded her head and slipped out of the room, leaving only Robb, Cat and the babe.

She looked like a bit like Arya. Her hair was brown and her face was always deeply flushed when she started to cry. Only the touch of red in her otherwise brown hair gave an indication of her Tully blood.

Robb didn't move. He simply stared at the babe.

A long moment of silence passed before he finally moved towards the crib. Ever slowly, he leaned down and touched the babe's curly hair.

The babe stirred and opened her eyes. They were blue and clear as the sky.

"Lyanna," Robb said at last and leaned down to place a kiss on the babe's head. "That will be her name."


	16. Carnage

**Daenerys**

They left before the sun had risen above the horizon. A chilly morning greeted them as they passed rolling hills of Lhazar. The grass was wet and muddy, the sky above covered in dreary clouds. The sun was nothing more than a distant blur of light trying to pass through the thick clouds.

Now and then the light was dimmed by the dragons circling above their heads.

Their sight never failed to comfort her, but she still had a nasty foreboding. Common practice of the Lhazareen would have dictated to they call for an assembly, but this attack was different. The attack came all of a sudden and several towns near Kosrak were attacked and put to the flames.

 _Come quickly_ , the carrier of the chief of Kosrak had asked in his letter. Thus they hurriedly gathered three-thousand mounted men. Jon advised against hasty actions, but she also understood that chief Mallor wanted to act as quickly as possible. The more time passed the more towns would fall victim to the enemy.

Daenerys faced the Dothraki only once, but this confrontation was enough to know that they are not pleasant people.

 _We have dragons_ , she reminded herself and angled her head to look at Jon. He was riding a few paces ahead of her, Ghost not far behind him. Both Jon and his wolf held their heads raised and watched out for potential enemies.

Before them stretched hilly landscape of pastures, but far off in the distance she spotted small forests, a glimmering river and the pale violet outlines of the Bone Mountains.

They had ridden for hours, but they have yet to find the villages in question.

"Are you sure it is here?" Tito asked the carrier. He was a small, stocky man with peppered hair. His face was littered with scars and his dark eyes narrowed against the sunlight bursting through the clouds. Daenerys tried see what he was seeing, but it proved impossible for her. She saw nothing, but the blurry lines of the horizon.

 _No wonder they call him Hawk's eye._

"You must be blind, boy," the man grumbled and pointed at the sky. "Can't you see the smoke?"

Daenerys tried again and saw nothing. Jon seemed share her feelings and shrugged his shoulders. Only Tito's brother Hibal seemed to see the invisible smoke.

"Finally," He said and brushed his hand over the tip of his spear. "We found their trace."

Tito jerked his head at the forest looming ahead.

"We should ride through the woods…to shadow our approach, though I doubt the horde is still here. They probably moved along the road passing Kosrak. It is the only passable street broad enough for carts and baggage trains.

"That will slow us down," Hibal countered unhappily, but chief Mallor seemed to agree with Tito's suggestion. "We shouldn't act hasty. We will do as Tito suggested. Let's move."

The woods proved dark and chilly. High pine trees loomed over them and threw wide shadows behind them. The cold breeze coming from the mountains made her shiver beneath her wool cloak trimmed with white hare pelt.

"Are you cold, Princess?" Ser Barristan asked. He decided to ride behind her, Larsha and the other women to keep an eye on them. She knew he meant well, but it made her feel like a child. This was the first time she was riding to battle and she wanted to prove that she was one of them.

And yet she couldn't help but to smile at the elderly knight. She never had a grandfather, but Ser Barristan was the kind of person every child wished for.

"I am fine," she assured him with a quick smile. "Have you ever encountered Dothraki, good Sir?"

He shook his head, his white hair fluttering around his weather-worn face like feathers.

"I have not, but I heard enough of them to know that they are not to be underestimated."

"We have the dragons," she assured him and he nodded his head in agreement, though she noticed an expression of doubt washing over his face.

"We have dragons," he confirmed quietly and followed after her.

The sun stood high on the sky when they finally left the dark woods behind them and found the muddy trail Tito had been searching for.

The street was not particularly broad, but good enough to move with mounted men. Next came a ragged landscape of yellow grass and foliage. It looked as if someone decided to paint the entire landscape yellow instead of the green pasture so common to Lhazar.

Soon the landscape gave away to dry hills and dusty valleys. Occasionally she spotted a fig tree or sheep grazing on the dry hills. They looked lost and several of them bled heavily.

The smell lured Viserion from the sky. Quick like a snake he snapped the animal from the ground. It didn't take long, before Rhaegon started to quarrel with his brother. They had them before their departure, but it seemed they were hungry for more.

It took a lot of shouting on her side, before the dragons stopped their childishness and they were able to move on.

"There!" Larsha exclaimed as she reached the top of a high ridge overseeing a narrow valley. "Smoke!"

Daenerys' heart sped up when she heard this and led her horse up the hill to join Larsha's side. Black plumes of smoke rose from the ruins of a town. Even the fields and the animals were unable to escape the slaughter that befell the town.

It was a grizzly sight, but she tried to hide her shock. _I am the blood of the dragon._

"I think the flames have been burning for a long time," Jon remarked to the other men and narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight. "When do you think did the the attack occur?"

"Yesterday," Hawk's eye replied. "They probably attacked yesterday.

Then he craned his neck and pointed at the churned up earth, leading away from the ruins of the town.

"They moved west towards Kosrak," he remarked and frowned."But this was a small horde…maybe two-thousand mounted men and no carts."

"They probably split from the main horde to come here," Tito suggested.

Jon nodded his head in agreement.

"Could be…that would also explain why they were able to attack this quickly."

Tito frowned and pulled on the reins of his horse, slowly leading it down the hill.

Jon followed after him and Daenerys followed suit, Ser Barristan close at her heels.

The elderly knight frowned as well, his hand smoothing over the hilt of his sword.

Daenerys herself felt the anticipation rising inside her as they drew closer and closer towards the town.

More and more dead sheep littered their path. Most of them died from arrow wounds, though some of them looked as if someone cut their throats with a blade. Soon they also found the first human corpses.

Daenerys had seen corpses before, but this was different. Most of them were cut down like pigs for slaughter. Among them were children, women and elderly people, who presumable guarded the sheep herds. She also noticed Dothraki among the dead littering the outskirts of the town, but they were like a single drop of water in a wide desert.

 _I am the blood of the dragon_ , she whispered to herself. _I am the blood of the dragon._

Behind her back she heard Larsha curse. The other women appeared equally tense, their dark eyes glinting with restrained anger. Even the dragons seemed affected, their loud roars echoing over the ruins of the town.

 _They can smell the blood_ , she knew and averted her gaze when she spotted the body of a dead woman. She couldn't be much older than Daenerys herself. An arrow stuck in her head and her clothing was tattered. Numerous cuts littered her naked skin and teats.

Yet that was only the beginning. The worst came when they passed through the destroyed gates. There was hardly anything left from the city walls, but a carcass of blackened wood. Only a few stone houses were left, black and devoid of life.

The sheer amount of blackened corpses on the ground made it almost impossible move forward. Daenerys clung to her horse and was torn between looking away and facing the horror.

There were so many of them that Daenerys soon stopped to count. She wasn't even able to say whether they were female or male. The heat shrank the bodies to small black figurines not bigger than children.

She was used to the smell of burned flesh, but this was different. These corpses had been lying here for a long time. Most of them were covered in maggots and other animals known to feast on human flesh.

The sweet and rotten smell forced her to cover her mouth with her cloak, least she vomited out her last meal.

They had nearly crossed the town they came across the ruins of a temple. Almost every Lharzareen town had such a building dedicated to the Great Shepard, though here was nothing left of the statue, but a heap of ash. Only the walls of the temple were left, black and papered with dead corpses, pierced by pikes. Among them were elderly man, children, babes and women of all ages. Their faces were pale, blue and grey. Some had no eyes or breasts, some lacked fingers and others even their heads.

It felt as if they were thrown in a nightmare.

Shaking violently, she stumbled from her horse and emptied her stomach on the ground. Her body was wracked by spasms as she tried to block out the terrible smell.

"Dany!" Larsha called out to her and smoothed her hand over Daenerys' back. Ser Barristan followed suit and Jon stumbled from his horse to join her side.

"Breathe…Breathe!" he whispered to her.

Daenerys tried, but it felt as if her throat was in knots.

She exhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. It felt as if an eternity had passed when she opened them again.

Larsha was holding her and Jon was grouching before her, his face awash with concern.

"Better?" he asked gently.

She nodded her head.

"I think I can breathe again…," she assured him and pulled herself to her feet.

"Ser Barristan…," he addressed the elderly knight, his grip tight on her hand. "I think it is best if you go back to the woods. We have been riding all day…we will soon make camp. We will take care of this."

Deaenerys knew what he meant to do. _Burn the dead._

"Sonarys will be of help," she told him and frowned. She hated being treated like fragile maid, though she knew he meant well. "And I am well."

"You look like a ghost," he told her in a tone that left no room for discussions. "A bit of fresh air and you will feel much better. I know what I am talking about…I vomited at Theon's boots when I first beheld an execution. You don't have to feel ashamed," He assured her and brushed her hair out of her face.

"I agree with Jon," Ser Barristan added and graced her with a grandfatherly smile."Allow me to escort you."

"Very well," Daenerys agreed shakily and swallowed hard. "I will do as you say."

As promised, Ser Barristan led her away from the town. She didn't want to admit it, but the fresh air helped. It didn't take too long, before she was helping to set up camp. It gave her something to focus on.

Once she was finished with the basic tasks, Daenerys, Ser Barristan and Larsha chased a handful of sheep down the hills towards the dragons, who had started to build their sleeping place on a distant hill.

It was no late evening and the sun stood low on the distant horizon. Streaks of violet and red dotted the sky. It was reminiscent of a purple wound.

"Princess," Ser Barristan interrupted her moment of silent contemplation. "You should rest. It has been a long day."

She wanted to refuse, but she felt the weariness in her bones.

"You are probably right," she replied and fastened her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Silently, she followed Ser Barristan back to the camp and settled before the cackling campfire. The flames swirled before her in colours of red, yellow and orange. The heat tickled her skin and helped ease her nerves, though she was unable to banish away the grizzly sights swirling through her mind.

"Is it always this terrible?" she asked Ser Barristan, who sat on his velvet cloak. She envied him for his calm composure.

"War is always terrible, Princess," he explained and gave her sad smile. "There is always pillage, death and rape to be found in times of war. You would have a hard time finding an army that never committed such acts of violence as you saw today, though I admit…this was rather nasty. It didn't look like common pillage, but more like an act of revenge."

Ser Barristan's answer alarmed her more than she wanted to admit.

 _We gave them a harrowing defeat. Was this the way of the Dothraki to take revenge for it?_

"The Dothraki like to kill…it is all they know," Larsha added in broken Bastard Valyrian."But he is right. This was an act of revenge. They butchered them to pay us back for their defeat."

Daenerys accepted her words in silence and angled her head to search for a sign of Jon and Sonarys.

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon when Jon and the others finally returned.

They looked grim and pale, but that was no surprise to her. Burning the dead was no pleasant task.

"You look much better," Jon remarked when his gaze came to rest on her. He even smiled a little, though she couldn't help but to notice the glint of anger in his eyes. "You have my thanks, Ser Barristan."

Ser Barristan gave him an accepting nod and continued with his work. He was sharpening his blade with some of stone.

"And what will we do now?" Daenerys asked first Jon and then Tito."Will we fight?"

"That depends on my brother," Tito grumbled angrily and jerked his head at the chief, surrounded by his men. "And what the scouts are going to tell us. We shouldn't act hastily, though I want nothing more than to crash a few Dothraki skulls along the way."

"I agree," Jon added and grimly. "This was different than Qohor."

This roused her interest.

"How was it different?"

"They killed the majority of the women, but there is a great lack of boy children among the victims," Tito explained.

Daenerys didn't know what to make of this and narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"What are you trying to say?"

"That they were taken for a specific purpose," Tito returned and gave Jon a sideway glance. "The Masters of Astapor are always keen on boy children. They need them to build their armies of Unsullied."

 _Unsullied_ , Daenerys repeated to herself and searched her memory about these Unsullied. _They are slave soldiers of the finest sort and bound too strict obedience_. That is what she had read in one of her books a long time ago.

"But why leave the women?" Daenerys asked and wrinkled her brows in confusion. "They could have earned a lot of coin by selling them to the slavers, unless this was really just an act of revenge."

"It seems so," Jon agreed through gritted teeth. He looked very tense, his jaw tight like a bowstring. His dark gaze rested on the dragons circling above the camp. "They came here to take revenge."

It was hard to deduce Jon's feelings by the expression on his face, but his anger was palpable by the way he was flexing his hand. He took an arrow wound in his first battle and whenever he overstrained his arm the wound started sting. Flexing his hand gave temporary relief, but only the cooling pastes of Tito's mother were able to remove the pain completely.

Yet it wasn't so hard to understand what he was thinking.

 _He thinks this is the result of our past actions_ , she believed and felt the sudden urge to pull him aside to speak alone.

"Jon," she said and forced a smile over her lips. It was hard to smile with those memories still lingering at the edge of her mind. "The dragons seem anxious. Maybe we should pay a visit to them. Would you care to join me?"

"A good idea," he agreed and lifted his head to meet her gaze. "Then let us go."

Ghost trailed after them as they climbed up the hill to join the dragons. Rhaegon was sleeping while Viserion was circling above their heads. Sonarys was feasting on his supper, but started to throw plumes of smoke in the air when he noticed their presence.

"They look calm enough," Jon remarked quietly.

She stepped closer and grasped his arm.

"I lied," she added with a wry smile. "But I wanted to speak alone. It isn't your fault…you know. It is as Larsha said…this is the way of the Dothraki."

"It is not," he replied grimly and tightened his grip on her hand. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on Sonarys. "They usually take prisoners. They acted this wantonly because we gave them a harrowing defeat. I always expected they would come back, but I didn't expect they would retaliate this brutally…I even thought they might stop their attacks temporarily... I was a naive fool."

"You are no fool," she assured him. "And what was the alternative? Should the Lhazareen just tolerate their behaviour?"

"Of course not," he replied and nodded his head. "But I still don't know how far I want to to go…"

…

 **Sansa**

Sansa tried to hide her feelings of shame behind a passive expression. Highgarden proved as lovely as promised, but she took little pleasure in the lavish gardens and the towers of marble touching the blue sky.

 _A lady knows her courtesy_ , she told herself and made her way to the aisle. Throughout her childhood she only knew her mother's small Sept. Not long ago she had the privilege to visit the Sept of Baelor, but this Sept was not less beautiful. It showed the wealth of Highgarden.

This wealth was the reason Joff broke their betrothal. She loved him once with all her heart, but now she felt only hatred for him. Just thinking about him made her ears burn.

 _Lord Willas will be my husband_ , she reminded herself and met his gaze. _I have to do my duty._

She met him a few days ago and hardly saw anything of him since. He was much older than her, though quite comely. He shared Ser Loras' soft-featured face, golden-brown locks and honey-coloured eyes. Yet he lacked his fit built and his twisted foot was an ugly sight to behold. Not even his beautiful silken cloak could hide his ailment.

 _My brother is also a cripple_ , she reminded herself not for the first time. _I ought to have pity for him. I must try to love him._

Yet she still felt the tears burning in her eyes as she took his hand. It was good that her face was hidden by a thick veil trimmed with baby pearls.

The Septon's singing voice lulled in her ears as her betrothed lifted the white garment. He didn't smile, his face a mask of seriousness.

 _He is serious_. That was her first impression of Willas Tyrell. _So very serious._

She didn't know what to make of that. Joff was always trying to impress her and showered her with lavish gifts like fine silks or jewels, but Willas Tyrell only gifted her an old dusty book that chronicles the history of his family.

 _To get to know your new family_ , he had told her in a gentle voice. It was a pleasant voice, but she would have preferred a kind word or a compliment.

The marriage vows come easy to her mouth. She knew these vows by heart. She had dreamed of this day so often, but now she felt only bitterness.

 _They used me_ , she knew and stifled a sob. _The Queen and Joff. They used me. All of Joff's flattery was a lie._

Once the vows were spoken she removed her maiden cloak, made of the purest white, a grey direwolf embellished in the middle. Her husband wasn't able to do it as he had to lean on a crutch.

 _It isn't meant to be like this_ , but she knew and felt the heat in her cheeks.

Doing her best to keep her composure, she turned around to receive a chaste kiss.

It was the clapping of the guests that called her back to the present moment. She was the only Stark here, a wolf among roses. Again she felt the sharp sting of loneliness. She longed for her mother's kind words, Arya's silly japes, Bran's scary stories, Rickon's complaints and…father.

 _I must play my part_ , she reminded herself again and forced a smile over her lips as she met her husband's gaze. She noticed now that there were specks of green in his golden eyes.

 _He is not as handsome as Ser Loras_ , _but he has pretty eyes_ , she decided.

He gave her a hesitant smile and took her arm, allowing her to lead him out of the sept to the feasting hall.

Even from the distance she heard the sound of music. Sansa loved dancing and felt the urge to join the festivities, but being mindful of her husband's disposition she forced herself to forget about it and took her seat next to him.

The food rich, but she could hardly stomach anything. She knew what was expected of her, but just thinking about it left her with a queasy feeling in her stomach.

"Is the food not to your taste, my Lady?" Lord Willas asked her after a long moment of silence had passed between them.

She couldn't help but to blush. _I need to get a hold of myself._

"I am just excited," she apologized sweetly.

A hesitant smile passed over his lips and he called for one of the page boys.

Going by his golden-brown eyes the boy was a relative. Lord Willas whispered something in his ear and the boy grinned from one ear to the other, before rushing off to fulfil whatever task his Lord gave him.

Scarce a minute passed, before he the boy returned with a silver plate.

"The Queen was kind enough to inform me about your tastes," Lord Willas told her and jerked his head at the lemon cakes.

Sansa was taken back by his gesture, but she couldn't help but to remain mistrustful.

 _Joff gave me nothing but lies. I need to be careful._

"I thank you, my Lord," she replied and nibbled from a piece of cake. It tasted heavenly, but she could take no joy in it."I thank you."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Most of the guests were deep in their cups when one of them called for the bedding.

Sansa froze in fear when she heard this.

 _I must be brave_ , she reminded herself, but her husband seemed to sense her fear and sent the men away.

Silence spread between them afterwards as she undressed. Lord Willas did the same, though not before her. It seemed he felt just as ashamed as her.

It made her wonder if he was ashamed of his twisted leg or just shy in front of ladies. He was twenty, a man grown. It was hard to believe that he never bedded a woman.

Trembling and only dressed in her nightgown she slipped beneath the covers, to seek warmth. She never thought the south could be this cold.

It made her long for the hotsprings. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the heart tree and the steaming pools of water.

It was the sinking of the mattress beside her that called her back to the present moment.

"My Lady…," He mumbled quietly and his golden eyes met hers.

Then he leaned over to squeeze her folded hands.

"I wish I could wait…but my Lord Father commanded me…he commanded me to do this..," he said in a low and insecure voice.

Sansa was flabbergasted by his answer.

"Am I not pleasing enough for you, my Lord?" she asked, a bit insulted by his lack of interest.

He blushed and lifted his hand to touch her cheek.

"That is not the reason…you are very beautiful, but you are half a child. That is all."

This answer was even worse, but she tried her best to hide her feelings.

"I am a woman flowered. I am not afraid."

A moment of heavy silence followed, before he finally moved and joined her beneath the covers. His breathing tickled her cheek as turned to lay on top of her. His body felt warm against hers. It was not unpleasant.

She expected of him to do it quickly, but he proved more than cautious. Ever gently, he touched her cheek, her neck and the curve of her shoulder. He slowly brushed the underside of her breast, before moving his hand further down to come to rest on her hip. His other hands skimmed along her other thigh and slipped between her legs.

She didn't expect that and gave an unladylike gasp. She closed her eyes, a strange feeling washing over her.

He seemed to sense her feelings and leaned down to kiss her cheek and then her lips. He tasted of the wine mixed with honey essence. It was a pleasant taste, but the knowledge of what was to come dimmed her pleasure.

She grabbed the sheets as he pushed inside her. It left a stinging feeling between her legs that brought tears to her eyes.

She must have cried out, for he stopped immediately, one of his hands touching her face in a soothing gesture.

She touched his neck and placed a kiss on his mouth. It was meant to encourage him.

He returned her kiss and moved inside her, the pain giving away to a dull ache of pleasure. Shortly after, she gasped in his neck as he spent himself inside her, his breathing hot against her cheek.

It took him a good while to entangle himself from her body, his eyes of molten gold staring down at her in a mix of sadness and warmth.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked her and brushed his fingertips over her hand resting above her head.

She shook her head and meant it. She imagined it worse, though for a brief moment she wondered whether Joff would have asked her the same question.

"I am well," she assured him and he finally smiled. It was a sincere smile devoid of pride.

"Then I am pleased, my Lady. I assure you…we can wait as long as you want until we do this again…you are still so very young."

"I told you before," she replied and squeezed his hand. "I am a woman grown."

…


	17. Dies Irae

**Jon**

The scouts returned before dawn. By sparse torchlight listened to Tito's findings.

Young Jemshid was their newest addition. He joined them half a day ago with thousand men.

"The Dothraki camp is surrounded by forest to the west and north," Tito explained and pointed at the circle meant to represent the Dothraki camp.

"To the east stretches a barren plain, crossed by a shallow river and leading to a hilly area. The main horde still camping there and I doubt they will leave anytime soon. It seems they made this place their base of operation. I also saw them bring captives to the camp."

"Where?" Daenerys asked and met Tito's gaze. "Where do they keep the captives?"

"In the northern part of the camp…near their carts," Tito answered and drew several smaller circles on the ground.

"How many riders are there?" Chief Mallor asked. "What do you think, brother?"

Tito narrowed his eyes in concentration, before giving his estimation.

"About twenty-thousand riders…it is hard to say."

"We have about four-thousand men," Young Jemshid remarked. Then he lifted his gaze and turned to look at Jon."And three dragons."

Jon nodded his head in understanding.

"We have dragons, but I can't just burn the camp. I could harm the captives."

"Indeed," Chief agreed and nodded his head. "That is why our first priority should be to free the captives."

Jon's gaze immediately darted to the northern part of the camp.

"You mentioned a forest..." Jon said. "How would you describe the forest?"

"The woods are thick," Tito confirmed and bared his teeth, before drawing several lines on the ground meant to represent the forest. "The woods are thick, but passable by foot. Why are you asking?"

"I see," Jon said and pondered Tito's answer."A smaller group of people could try passing through the woods to free the captives," he continued. "Would that be possible?"

"It would be possible," Tito confirmed, but his serious expression told Jon that it wouldn't be as easy as he imagined. "But I doubt we would be able to free several hundred captives without alarming the horde."

"True," Daenerys added, her purple eyes narrowed in concentration. "But it would be possible if we provide them with a distraction."

Then she lifted her head and smiled at Jon.

Jon knew this kind of smile. It meant that she was planning something.

"What better distraction than a massive dragon?"

 _No_ , Jon wanted to say, but they didn't have much of a choice. They needed to attack within the next few days or their advantage of surprise would be gone. They tried to keep several paces behind the horde, but their time was running out.

"A good idea, "Jon replied instead and forced a smile over his lips. "And how do you intend to employ the dragon?"

She smiled proudly, seemingly pleased that he approved of her suggestion. To see her smile warmed his hearth, but it didn't erase his worry.

"The dragons," she corrected him. "I intend to employ both Viserion and Rheagon. Two dragons are more threatening than one. I also intend to ride Rhaegon. This way I can keep Viserion in check. You know how aggressive he can be."

Jon knew what she was trying to say, but he didn't like that Daenerys intended to ride Rhaegon. She had been training over the last weeks, but a real battle was different matter.

"Daenerys…I don't think…," he began, but her determined expression silenced him.

"I trained hard. I can do it," she assured him, her purple eyes pleading.

"Very well," he agreed and sighed. "But I suggest taking Sonarys instead of Viserion. He is much easier to control. Viserion can stay with me.".

"Sonarys listens to you, but Viserion doesn't. Keep Sonarys with you," Daenerys countered.

"We could help you by placing ourselves before the river. Thus we could provide another distraction."

"A good idea…they would certainly follow us like rabid dogs," Chief Mallor added grimly. "Thus we could lure them to the hilly landscape spreading behind the river."

"Several mounted riders should be enough to lure them there," Jon agreed. "And the hills are easier to defend against the mounted Dothraki riders. I and Sonarys could stay there and help defending this position."

"Good," Tito agreed. "But we also should watch out for the Boodriders and the Khal. Killing him could shorten the battle.

"Forgive me for asking this," Ser Barristan added quietly. "Why would killing him shorten the battle? Are the Dothraki solely dependent on the Khal's leadership?"

"The death of the Khal would split the horde…they would probably return to Vaes Dothraki to decide on another Khal. This would take moons," Tito explained.

"There is still the matter of the captives," Jon reminded them and took a sideway look at Ser Barristan."Who wants to lead the rescue team?"

"I will," Tito declared determinedly.

"Good," Jon said and jerked his head at Ser Barristan."Would you mind if Ser Barristan accompanies you? He is quite experienced at rescue missions…"

Tito's gaze flickered from Ser Barristan to Jon. Jon read doubt on his face, but he didn't voice his true thoughts and simply nodded his head.

"Very well," his friend answered and bared his teeth. "The old man and I will save the captives."

If Ser Barristan felt insulted, it didn't show on his face. He only gave a quiet.

"All of this is good and fine," Chief Mallor added and swept his dark eyes over the assembled group of people. "But we need to tread carefully. The Dothraki are fearsome."

Thus the meeting ended. Only Jon, Daenerys and Ser Barristan remained.

"Jon," Daenerys whispered and touched his shoulder. "Jon."

He grabbed her hand and met her gaze.

"I heard you," he said and gave her an apologetic smile. "Forgive me, my mind was straying…What did you say?"

She gave him a concerned look and touched his cheek.

"I was just saying that I am going to feed the dragons," she explained and placed a kiss on his cheek, before rising to her feet.

"Let me…," he began, but she silenced him with a warning look. "Let me help you. You won't have the luxury to sit on a dragon's back. You need your dire rest."

"The Princess is right," Ser Barristan added in his grandfatherly tone that left no room for discussions.

"At least take Larsha with you. She can be of help to you."

"I will," she assured him and rose to her feet, before slipping out of the tent.

Ser Barristan remained, his blue eyes searching for Jon.

"I can see there is something weighing on your mind," he said and gave Jon an expectant look. "I am an old man, but I heard talking helps wonders…"

Jon frowned. He didn't want to bare his thoughts to the elderly knight. He liked him, but he hadn't known him for more than a few moons.

Yet this problem concerned his family heritage and there was no one who knew more about it than Ser Barristan Selmy.

"I don't know…I thought the Dothraki horde would back off if I gave them a harrowing defeat. That is why I was prepared to use the dragons and in the end I made everything worse. And now we are relying on the dragons again. Seeing their power was terrifying. I know that war is bloody, but killing with dragon fire feels different than burying one's blade in an enemy," he tried to explain his feelings and shrugged his shoulders. "I must sound like a weak fool to you."

"On the contrary," Ser Barristan answered softly. "You are no weak fool. I think it is not wrong to have a healthy dose of respect for the enemy. People who allow themselves to be roused by feelings of revenge tend to commit fateful errors. However, I also learned that good intentions mean nothing if you are not prepared to enforce them with force and blood. There are different kinds of people…some can be pacified with mercy and others only understand the way of the sword."

Jon couldn't help but to laugh.

"I am trying to help the Lhazareen, because I think they are worthy of protection. And to achieve this goal I will have to burn hundreds of people."

"Indeed," Ser Barristan added and stroked his beard. "But that is the way of our world. Lord Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon killed thousands of people to protect their cause. So did your father's allies. That is the way of war."

"That is the way of war," Jon confirmed and grew eerily quiet.

"I fear so, my Prince," Ser Barristan added and graced him with a sad smile. "I don't know of this will help to ease your pain, but your father told me this: Better an end with terror than terror without an end. He intended to depose his father the Mad King."

Jon nodded his head in understanding.

"I think understand what my father was trying to say, Ser Barristan."

…

 **Daario**

Dawn was drawing closer, but the distant horizon was still dark. Daario sat before his tent and continued to sharpen his blade. Now and then he observed his men going about their business, but even that proved rather boring.

He had been a sellsword for as long as he was able to remember, but this was the least eventful mission they had ever received. They had been following after the Dothraki horde for several weeks, waiting to get a glimpse of these so called dragons. The brought with four scorpions, which they kept hidden beneath earthen cloths. They even donned Dothraki garb to remain hidden in the crowd of unwashed savages.

Daario hated this the most. He longed for his armour and wanted nothing more than to shed the smelly garb of the Dothraki. The Widower and Jokin might not care if they smelled like a heap of horseshit, but Daario did.

The only positive prospect of this mission was the promise of coin. Daario already knew what he would purchase. He was in dire need of a new horse, but helping the Dothraki still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He knew what they did to the villages, though didn't take part in the butchery. The Dothraki didn't deem them worthy to partake. Defeating a worthy enemy could be better than fucking, but it was hard for him to understand what kind of satisfaction the Dothraki take from killing wailing women and children.

His companions didn't care. Off in the distance he saw Jokin running off with a Dothraki woman.

Exhaling deeply, he but his blade away and cast his gaze to the horizon. A pale light lined the hills, rising behind the thin river curling in the distance.

 _My watch is finally over_ , he realized and made his way along a row of tents, back to his humble dwelling.

The Widower was also awake and continued to sharpen his axe, despite Daario's presence.

"Did you see dragons?" he asked amusedly.

"Sadly not," Daario replied and slipped inside his tent. He hadn't slept for a whole day and his head squirmed from the smell of horseshit. He plopped back on his sleeping place and searched for his hidden stash of wine. One gulp of the Dornish wine was enough and he felt a stream of warmth washing over him.

This feeling was better than goodnight kiss and soon he drifted off to sleep.

He hadn't slept for more than an hour when Jokin rushed into his tent to wake him from his slumber.

"Enemy ahead!"

"Fuck," Daario muttered and pulled on his boots, before rushing after Jokin."Did you see dragons?"

"Not yet," Jokin replied and rushed up the hill. Up there they had a better view at the plain spreading towards the river. "But it seems the sheepmen decided to show their face."

"Seems so," Daario agreed when he saw several hundred riders, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. "But no dragons."

"No dragons,"Jokin repeated while Daario climbed down from the elevated position. Waiting for him at the bottom he found the Widower, who grinned as if he was expecting a good fuck.

"Stop smiling and wake our men!" Daario snapped and went to retrieve his blade.

In the matter of a heartbeat the camp came to life. Men stumbled out of their tents and in the distance he heard the cries of the Dothraki warriors growling their commands at each other. It didn't take long, before the first swarm of Dothraki warriors charged towards the enemy.

Daario's men were busy readying the scorpions while Jokin's archers prepared their bows and arrows. More and more Dothraki warriors gathered as Daario continued to watch the movements of the enemy. The Lhazareen riders had turned heel and were retreating behind the river. The Dothraki followed after them like rabid dogs."

Then he heard it.

The roar of the green-golden creature spreading its wings over the sky sounded liked running thunder.

Daario froze, his gaze still glued to the creature.

Suddenly, there was a second dragon. This one was even more terrifying than the first one, its wings made of shining silver.

Their unified roar made the world tremble.

 _Time to die_ , he thought in amusement and felt the warm rush of blood. The pounding of his heart even drowned out the cries of the Dothraki warriors, but that was not important. His enemies were the dragons.

"Finally!" he heard the Widower's enthusiastic voice. Jokin looked less pleased, his eyes as wide as saucers as he watched the approaching dragons.

Again, the silver-winged creature roared. Joking shuddered visibly.

"Shut up and get back to your position!" Daario shouted at the Widower and quickly returned to his assigned position.

By now his men had moved the scorpions up the hill. The plan was simply: to shoot the dragons from the sky, but what happened now woke his doubts.

The golden-green dragon had barely reached the outskirts of the camp when it unleashed crimson flames on the Dothraki warriors.

Daario couldn't believe his eyes. It looked like a fiery sword cutting its way through butter.

Within a heartbeat a dozen of Dothraki warriors were swallowed by the flames. Their cries made his ears bleed, but were soon drowned out by the sound of snapping arrows.

The majority of the arrows didn't even reach the intended target or were destroyed by another wave of flames.

The next volley of arrows came from the dragon's rear, even the few arrows that hit the target didn't show much effect. The dragon angled his head and unleashed a stream of flames on the Dothraki warriors.

It was a terrifying sight, but it was also what they were hoping for. The Dothraki were dying like flies, but it would provide the distraction they needed.

"Prepare the bolts!" Daario shouted at his men, who were still staring at the dragons. "Prepare the bolts!"

His shouting roused them from their lethargy, but the dragon was still too far away.

"Jokin!" he shouted, his voice echoing over the camp. "Send the archers forward to lure the dragons closer!"

Still pale, Jokin did as he was asked and moved his archers forward while the green-golden dragon continued to fly circles above the camp. The silver dragon was not far behind and unleashed a stream of yellow flames on the nearby tents.

Daario watched from his position as Jokin's archers unleashed a volley of arrows at the green-golden dragon.

Only a handful of arrows hit the target, but it achieved the intended purpose.

The dragon whirled his head around and unleashed a sea of flames in their direction. Jokin's men had dispersed in expectancy of a counter attack.

"We are nearly there," he told his men, who looked as if they wanted to get back to their mother's tits."Nock!"

The dragon came closer and closer, its roar soon exchanged by the thrumming of his heart.

Holding his breath, he watched and timed the approach of the dragon. Only when he felt the dragon's hot breath on his skin did he give the command.

"Loose!" he shouted and the first round of bolts was unleashed at the dragon.

It was a crisp, snapping sound that filled his ears. Daario's head snapped around and followed the bolts, unleashed from their scorpions.

One of the bolts flew a perfect match, before descending at the green-golden dragon, but it didn't work out as it should. The dragon ducked and the bolt missed, barely brushing his wings.

Daario's hopes were squashed, but he tried to hide his doubts. Sweat was rolling down his temples as his men readied the next round of bolts. Jokin used the moment to send his archers forward.

The dragon seemed to anticipate their attack and bathed a good thirty men in a thick column of crimson flames.

Their bloodcurdling screams made his blood freeze. Daario always prided himself on his bravery, but this was different.

Daario gritted his teeth as he tried to time the dragon's movement.

"Nock!" he yelled and raised his hand. The dragon's breathe felt like a hot furnace. "Loose!"

 _That's it!_

All his hopes were dashed when the silver-winged dragon dipped down from the sky. He shrieked when the bolt hit his body. Another bolt brushed his silver wings, even drawing blood.

It was no use. The hit only helped to stir the dragon's rage.

In the blink of a moment the silver-winged dragon whipped around and bathed the world in a sea of yellow flames.

 _Fuck!_

…

 **Ser Barristan**

The woods before them were dark and eerily quiet, the howling of the wind their only companion as they made their way through the thick underwood. They counted not more than hundred men, but Ser Barristan remained optimistic. Duskendale seemed impossible, but in the end he managed to free King Aerys.

"This way!" the young man named Tito whispered to him and pointed ahead. They were trudging through the waist-high grass, before ducking under a large tree that blocked the way to a nearby clearing. They crossed the clearing and followed a muddy trail, leading along row of old trees.

The young man named Tito moved like a squirrel while Ser Barristan was slowed down by his age. He would have never admitted it openly, but he felt a hint of jealousy.

"We need to hurry," Tito added and gave Ser Barristan a concerned look. "Can you keep up, old man?"

Barristan chuckled. He was not easily insulted, especial not by a youngling like him.

"I will show you how old I am, my boy," he replied instead and followed after him. "Wait and see."

The rest of the path was bridged in silence. Occasionally he heard the whispering of the men walking behind him. To Barristan it sounded like growling. His Bastard Valyrian was passable, but his Lhazareen was still non-existent, though he tried his best to get a grasp of their difficult speech.

Their breathing was ragged from the fast pace when they reached the outskirts of the forest. They found themselves at the edge of a relatively steep path when they stepped out of the forest.

Barristan was surprised by the size of the camp. A sea of tents and cookfires spread before him.

"Look, that's where we need to go," Tito whispered and pointed at the outskirts of the camp. The light was still sparse, but even Barristan's old eyes were able to make out the shadowed shapes of the baggage trains. The carts stood at the furthest edge of the camp and were protected by Dothraki warriors armed with spears. Barristan saw only able to make out their shadowed shapes, but the tips of their spears glittered in the torchlight. The captives were even harder to place, but Tito was quick to provide him with an answer.

Now it was time to wait and to observe.

It would be the first time he saw the dragons in battle. He felt both excitement and worry. The Princess was a capable rider, but still so very young.

Silently, he watched the distant horizon, glimmering in a pale light.

Half an hour passed, before the camp came to life. Barristan could even see the Lhazareen riders crossing the river, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Below the camp he observed the shadowed Dothraki warriors mounting their horses, before driving them towards the approaching Lhazareen riders.

"There!" one of the men whispered in Bastard Valyrian and pointed at the sky. Accompanied by a loud roar and the swishing of wings the dragon named Rhaegon descended on the camp.

Barristan watched in awe as the creature spread his wings and unleashed a stream of crimson flames.

"We should move on," Tito reminded him and pointed ahead. "Our task awaits us!"

Barristan nodded and followed suit.

They didn't speak and tried to keep their movements as quiet as possible as they climbed down the steep path towards their intended target.

It didn't take long before Ser Barristan spotted the first two sentries coming their way.

"I will take the right one," Ser Barristan offered.

The young man named Tito frowned, but didn't decline his offer. He only lifted his blade and moved through the foliage, towards the second sentry after giving last directions to his men.

 _I have yet to gain their trust_ , he knew and unsheathed his blade. The feeling of his blade slipping out of his worn-out scabbard was as familiar as breathing to him.

The sentry didn't see him coming. Barristan slit his throat before he was even able to utter a sound. The Dothraki warroir stared back at him with wide black eyes, a gush of blood streaming down his corded body, before dropping to the ground like a puppet without strings.

Ser Barristan's companions didn't prove as efficient. One of their men must have alarmed the Dothraki, for a handful came upon them a heartbeat later, their curved blades raised in a threatening gesture.

The one coming at Barristan was a hunk of a man. His dark eyes glittered dangerously and a growl escaped his lips as he swung his blade. Barristan moved as surely as a dancer. He parried the man's blow and buried his blade to the hilt.

The man growled and collapsed half-way as Barristan freed his blade. It took only a heartbeat before he had wheeled around and killed the next one.

When he was done, he noticed Tito's presence. He stood in the shadow of a cart, his blade bloody and his dark eyes widened in surprise.

 _Who is now an old man_ , he wanted to ask the youngling, but there was no time to waste.

They used the carts to shadow their movements, but they were still forced to bloody their blades, before they reached the captives.

With a quick cut he buried his blade in the neck of the nearest sentry. He gurgled and collapsed when Barristan freed his blade.

Their actions alarmed the captives. The sun had climbed higher, but the light was still sparse and Barristan saw nothing more than shadowed faces filled with wear. The majority of the captives were male, ranging from young boys to grown men.

Some whispered in Lhazareen and even smiled, but the young ones cowered in fear. Only after Tito had explained their purpose did they calm down.

Barristan was surprised how efficient the Lhazareen worked. Ropes were cut, the captives assembled and directed while Barristan and the rest kept watch. They had to kill a handful of more warriors, but their enemy was rash. They were no match against a calmly-led blade.

Barristan killed them swiftly, but the young man named Tito seemed to take great pleasure in burying his blade in their bodies.

It was no surprise to Ser Barristan. He recalled the mangled bodies in the pillaged villages all too vividly.

Finished with their bloody work, their next task awaited them: to get several hundred captives up the steep path leading to the forest.

Especially, the younger captives proved problematic. They started to whimper, but the young man named Tito didn't hesitate to silence them with sharp words. It was so unlike his usual calm temper, but worked like a spell.

Not long after they were climbing up the steep path, towards the dark forest. Far off in the distance he heard the echoes of battle and the roars of the dragons. Only when he had arrived at the top did he turn around and gasped in shock.

The dragon named Rhaegon was bathing the enemy in crimson flames, his roar mixing with the snapping of arrows. Yet it was the cry of Viserion that made him shudder.

His roar sounded like the cry of a mighty lion as he moved through the camp. Left and right, he snapped his head at approaching riders, before tearing them apart limp and bones. Yellow flames leaped out of his mouth as he continued to move in their direction.

The sight confused Barristan.

 _What is going on_ , he wondered and smoothed his hand over the pommel of his sword. _Why is he coming here…_

"Move!" he shouted at the others and turned around. "Move!"

...

 **Daenerys**

Daenerys trembled when she heard Viserion's painful shriek. She had been too focused on the enemy to notice the siege weapons placed on the hill.

The bolt flew straight at Rhaegon, but Viserion had propelled himself in front of them. Even in the lingering darkness she was able to see the blood running where the bolt had brushed his wings.

"Gīda aōla!" she shouted at Rhaegon and tightened her grip on his back. Yet that was easier said than done. Rhaegon was out of control and continued to bathe the enemy in curling red flames while the Dothraki warriors continued to litter them with arrows. A few of them were already stuck in Rhaegon's upper body.

 _We need to get away_ , she knew, her heart hammering wildly. _Now._

"Sōvegon!" she shouted again and patted Rhaegon's back."Sōvegon!"

Over and over again she repeated her command, her voice strained from the effort. She clung to his back, the arrows darting over hear head like a swarm of birds.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Her eyes hurt from the smoke. The smell of death and blood filled her nose and made her want to gag. It was a smell reminiscent of the dead bodies in the pillaged villages.

"Rhaegon!" she shouted once more."Bē!"

She didn't know what did it, but Rhaegon finally obeyed her command. She tightened her grip on his back as he lifted them in the air.

Once they were back in the air she straightened herself and turned around to make out Viserion's position.

She gasped in shock when she noticed how far he had gone. He had wandered off north, where the outskirts of the camp met the dark forest.

 _Gods, I need to stop him!_

Alarmed by this, she climbed higher and patted Rhaegon's back.

"Rhaegon!" she shouted and clucked her tongue." Geptot!"

Rhaegon changed his direction in such a quick manner that Daenerys was barely able to take a breath.

Her heart was steadily thrumming as Rhaegon followed after his brother, who continued his murder spray through the camp towards the forest.

 _I need to stop him_ , she knew and straightened herself. The cool air brushed her skin. Her head was cold and her calves felt hot as if she was sitting atop a volcano.

"Rhaegon! Paktot!" she shouted again."Paktot!"

Rhaegon obeyed and moved right, flying a curve to cut off Viserion's approach.

They had nearly reached Viserion when Daenerys straightened herself and cleared her throat.

"Viserion!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Henujagon! Keligon ziry!"

Viserion proved blind to her calls and continued his approach. It wasn't helped by the fact that a horde of Dothraki riders dared to make their way through the flames to attack them.

Their screams echoed in her ears as they hurled their spears at Viserion. Quick like a snake he angled his head and threw a current of flames at the enemy.

She didn't see what happened to them, because had to direct her attention back to Rhaegon, who continued to fly straight ahead, over the forest below.

 _We need to turn around_ , she knew and patted Rhaegon's back.

"Rhaegon! Geptot!"

Rhaegon roared and flapped his wings, before taking a sharp turn to the left, soaring over the forest below, back to the camp.

"Ilie! she commanded next." Ilie!"

Rhaegon didn't waste time and flew straight ahead. Daenerys straightened herself and timed her descend.

"Ilagon!" she commanded." Ilagon! Pektot!"

Rhaegon obeyed and dipped lower, before landing in a relatively pleasant manner. Daenerys' gaze flickered over the camp, but found no enemy ahead. This part of the camp was relatively secure and Daenerys had no reservations to keep Rhaegon on the ground. Yet she didn't dare to crawl from his back. She feared the enemy too much.

"Rhaegon! Naejot!" she commanded and the dragon slithered towards Viserion. Not far from their position the flames continued to spread towards the forest looming ahead. Viserion didn't help it by continuing to stir them higher.

"Keligon!" she called after Viserion, but he continued to ignore her.

Daenerys gritted her teeth and exhaled deeply.

 _I have no other choice._

"Rhaegon!" she shouted."Dracarys!"

Rhaegon roared and angled his head to the side, before unleashing a stream of flames in Viserion's direction.

His brother shrieked when the flames touched his body. Her heart clenched in guilt, though it was not uncommon that the dragons unleashed their flames at each other when they were quarreling.

 _He will be fine_ , she assured herself and commanded Rhaegon to repeat the action. _He will be fine._

Finally, Viserion backed away. He shrieked and craned his head to look at her.

She felt the touch of his hot skin and met Viserion's gaze.

 _He is angry_ , she knew and didn't dare to flinch away. _I need to remain calm. He can sense my fear._

"Viserion! Dīnagon arlī!" she commanded and braced herself for Viserion's reaction.

Rhaegon roared as if to add his voice and snapped his head at Viserion.

Finally, Viserion began to move backwards. He flapped his wings and with much effort he managed to take to the air. He looked like a young bird.

"Rhaegon!" she commanded and patted his back."Sōvegon!"

Relief washed over her when Rhaegon followed after his brother and it gave her a moment to clear hear head.

She tightened her grip on Rhaegon's back and directed her gaze westwards, where Jon was fighting at the side of the Lhazareen.

…

 **Jon**

The blades parted and Jon urged his horse left to wheel around the enemy. This Dothraki warrior was hardly older than him, but a much better rider than Jon.

 _Robb was always better rider_ , he recalled for no particular reason and parried the next blow.

Jon gritted his teeth and searched for an opening.

With a quick movement he buried his blade in the man's shoulder. Blood trickled down the man's body and he collapsed from his rearing horse.

Yet he was not allowed to rest. The next warrior was soon upon him, but Ghost was quicker and felled the man's horse. The warrior was barely able to get up before Jon cut him down.

Jon pulled his blade free and wheeled his horse around to lead it up the hill, where Sonarys was waiting for him. Below he spotted the swarms of Dothraki warriors trying to reach the Lhazareen spearmen and archers.

The Lhazareen continued to litter the Dothraki warriors with arrows, but not even the elevated positions and Sonarys' flames were able to keep them away.

Like madman they continued to drive their horses up the hill, towards Sonarys. By now he had killed several hundred of them; below them spread a heap of corpses of men and horse alike.

Again the Dothraki unleashed a volley of arrows at them.

As always, the Lhazareen spearmen lifted their shields to protect their own archers. Some of the Dothraki arrows darted over their heads and several others ended up stuck in their shields.

The Lhazareen archers didn't hesitate to retaliate and unleashed an equal amount of arrows at the enemy below.

"Something strange is going on," Young Jemshid remarked and pointed at the distant camp. Jon lifted his head and saw Rhaegon circling over Viserion. He was far off from his intended position.

 _It seems Viserion is out of control_ , she realized but decided against telling Young Jemshid.

 _Daenerys knows what she is doing_ , he assured himself and turned his gaze towards the swarm of Dothraki warriors driving their horses up the hill.

Their shrill cries made his ears bleed, but he ignored it. He gritted his teeth and lifted his sword.

"Wait!" Young Jmeshid shouted and stopped him. "The bloodriders…the bloodriders have finally come!

"Finally," Jon replied and felt a hint of relief. It meant the Khal couldn't far."Our time has come!"

"Finally," Young Jemshid agreed and assembled his men. It were his best riders, chosen for this purpose alone: to kill the Khal and his bloodriders.

Jon nodded his head and turned around to regard Sonarys.

"Umbagon dīnagon!" he told the dragon and hoped he was able to understand him. Then he shifted his attention back to the enemy below and whistled.

"Ghost with me!" he commanded and kicked his heels in the sides' of his horse.

The bloodriders were easily discernable. They wore red war paint, covering their faces.

All he heard was the sound of his pounding heart as he continued to descend down the hill.

His first enemy, a hunk of a Dothraki rider, came straight at him, his curved blade raised for attack. Jon gritted his teeth and parried his quick cuts while trying to remain on his horse. The blades met in another quick exchange of blows, before Jon wheeled his horse to the side and brought down his sword in a savage blow to the rider's left.

The enemy barely managed to parry the blow, but Jon gave him no time to rest. The blades kissed briefly and Jon didn't hesitate to bury his blade in the enemy's horse.

The animal reared and catapulted the enemy to the ground. Jon was about to raise his blade, when Ghost jumped the man and ended his life.

Jon had no time to relish his victory. The sound of snapping arrows alarmed him and made him spur his horse further down the hill. They missed him, but two of their riders were hit. The rest were engaged in battle and continued to cross their blades with the enemy.

Young Jemshid had managed to unhorse another bloodrider when Jon spotted him.

It was the first time he saw him fight. Jon was impressed how easily he kept in the saddle while bringing down his blade at his enemy.

This bloodrider was sleek like a cat as he continued to exchange heated blows with Young Jemshid. His long braid was even more impressive. It nearly reached to his thighs, his many bells ringing with every quick movement.

The realization hit him like thunder.

 _That's the Khal_ , he was sure and urged his horse forward, to avoid their arrows. Ghost was not far, quarreling with another warrior, his sharp teeth bloody and his growls ringing in the air. He wanted to wheel his horse around to aid Young Jemshid, but another bloodrider blocked his path.

This one was not less terrifying than the Khal. He was a strong man, graced with a corded body. He growled at Jon as he drove his horse towards him in a quick pace. Jon was barely able to take a breath before their blades met. There was something rash and aggressive in the way he fought. The smell of sweat and blood met his nostrils whenever he got too close. This one had bathed in blood, so much Jon realized, but tried not to be discouraged by it.

 _Calm yourself_ , Jon recalled Ser Barristan's words. Yet that was easier said than done. The enemy was hammering at him with great strength and his horse was getting anxious. Let and right, the blades met and one cut gracing his shoulder. He gritted his teeth against the stinging pain and tried to calm himself, before making his next move.

Instead of attacking h led his horse to the left, riding a circle around the man. The man didn't hesitate to follow after him and Jon waited, watching out for an opening. He gathered his strength and timed the man's approach, before parrying the man's next cut and slashing his blade in the man's neck.

A stream of blood rolled down his neck, his black eyes staring back at Jon in shock.

Jon didn't hesitate to kick his feet in the side of his horse and pulled out his blade.

When Jon had wheeled his horse around, he found Young Jemshid still engaged in battle. Left and right, the blades made as if he was painting invisible pictures in the air. Both of hem sported cuts, sweat and blood running down their bodies.

Jon didn't waste more time and led his horse back to one his fallen companions. The man was dead, a puddle of blood spreading beneath him.

Jon sheathed his blade and leaned down to pick up the man's spear.

He had tried his best to improve his technique, but his guts still turned to jelly the closer he got to the enemy.

"Jemshid!" he shouted at his companion and straightened himself. "Get out of the way!"

It seemed Young Jemshid heard him, for he parried another blow, before urging his horse away from the Khal.

In the blink of a moment hurled the spear at the Khal.

The tip hit straight where it belonged and sent the Khal flying from his saddl. Jon unsheathed his sword and urged his hordes towards the fallen man.

The Khal was close to death when Jon laid eyes on him. The spear head notched itself deep in the man's chest. He was choking for air and trying to pull out the spear, but it was no use.

He was too weak and the spear went too deep He shuddered once more, before his body went still.

Jon felt a hint of shame for killing this capable warrior in such a degrading manner. Yet then he recalled the pillaged villages. Where was the honor in that?"

"Jon!" Young Jemshid's shout snapped him back to the present. "The next swarm is coming!"

"I hear you," he replied and kicked his feet in the sides' of his horse, to follow after Young Jemshid. It didn't take long before he found Ghost, his jaw covered in fresh blood.

Jon whistled, before they returned to join the battle.

Jon killed several more men, before they retreated to the safety of the hills. Their lines had thinned through the constant assault of the Dothraki horde, but the Lhazareen spearmen stood strong and Sonarys had kept off the blunt force.

Sonarys' roared loudly when Jon approached. At first he thought it was his way of greeting him, but then he heard another roar.

This roar was softer. It was Viserion's roar. Rhaegon followed suit and a heartbeat later he found his green-golden wings glittering in the morning light. He landed not far from Sonarys and whirled up a cloud of dust.

Viserion's state was a shock.

There was a bolt sticking in his upper body and his right wing was bleeding.

Jon felt relieved when he spotted Daenerys still perched atop Rhaegon's back. Jon unhorsed quickly and made his way towards Daenerys.

Daenerys looked pale and shaken when she arrived at the ground. Jon gasped when she pulled her helmet off her head, revealing her burned-off hair. Yet it was the arrow notched in his armor that was his true concern.

"What...," he muttered and touched her back. "What happened?"

"The arrow didn't go deep," she assured him through gritted teeth and took in the bleeding cut on his shoulder. "This looks much worse."

Then she lifted her head to meet his gaze.

"They had siege weapons and managed to hit Viserion. It stirred his rage and he nearly attacked the northern part of the camp. I was barely able to calm him," she explained and turned regard the destroyed camp.

Thick columns smoke were rising into the sky and blended out the sparse morning light.

The battle was over and the remaining Dothraki warriors were leaving.

"Viserion left nothing, but destruction in his wake," Daenerys continued to explain and craned her neck to look at Viserion and Rhaegon. "I am surprised how little damage the arrows were able to do to the dragons. Their skin must have thickened over the last moons, but the bolt went through, though not as deep as they hoped."

Then she noticed the heap of burned and mangled bodies.

"Sonarys kept them away from the hills…just as you said," he informed her and brushed his hand through her tattered locks.

"Viserion was stubborn," she explained, but winced when he brushed her shoulder.

"We need to pull out the arrow, before the wound stars to fester," he remarked.

Daenerys opened her mouth in protest when Young Jemshid interrupted their conversation.

"You should listen to him," Young Jemshid remarked, a sad smile curling on his lips. "The battle is done…it's time to bury the dead and to heal."

…

 **Daenerys**

Daenerys continued to watch the dragons circling above her head. She gritted her teeth to blend out the fresh wave of pain surging through her arm.

They managed to pull out the bolt stuck in Viserion's body, but the wound has yet to heal.

The Lhazareen also about a thousand men or more, but they remained optimistic. Maybe it was simple their nature to endure hardships with a calm composure.

"You should rest, Princess," Ser Barristan remarked in a weary voice. He took no wound, but his clothes were drenched in blood.

Daenerys had felt as if a heavy weight dropped from his shoulders when she saw him alive and well.

"I am not tired," she replied at last. "And I am waiting for Jon."

"He should rest as well," Barristan added in a grandfatherly tone. "He is far too stubborn."

Daenerys couldn't help but to agree.

"That is Jon for you," she added and pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulder. "He can't sit idle."

"No, he can never sit idle…," Ser Barristan trailed off, his gaze fixed at the distant horizon. He looked as if his mind was somewhere else, maybe in past.

"Ser Barristan…," she began, but Ghost's waking roused her attention. He yawned and stretched his paws, before running down the hill towards the approaching men.

"Jon is back," she remarked and followed after Ghost.

She spotted Tito, Jon and several strangers. Most of them were bound to horses and sported burns of various degrees.

Yet they didn't look like Dothraki.

The man bound to Jon's horse even sported bright-blue hair. The nasty burn on his cheek looked painful, but he looked otherwise unharmed.

"Jon," she began, her gaze still resting on the bound man."Who is that?"

"A sellsword," Jon replied with a grim nod.

"My name is Daario," he added and didn't hesitate to introduce himself. "Jon certainly didn't lie about your beauty."

She was stunned and gave Jon a questioning look.

"You know him?"

Jon nodded and frowned.

"Sadly, I do."

"Don't be shy, Jon," the sellsword named Daario added and laughed. "We are old friends, aren't we?"

…


	18. Meetings and Departures

**Daenerys**

Daenerys watched as Aemon stumbled over to her. Ghost was not far, his ruby eyes following after her boy.

"Dagnon!" Aemon shouted and handed her the blue dragon Jon made for him."Dagnon!"

"Dragon," she corrected hi with a chuckle and picked the blue dragon from his hand. As always, he grinned and tried to repeat her words, but lacked the ability to do so.

"Dagon," Aemon tried to repeat her words and stumbled back to his heap of toys. Then he leaned down clumsily and picked up a wooden horse.

"Hose," he said and handed her the wooden horse. This one was a gift from Tito."Hose!"

"Horse," she corrected him again and put extra emphasis on the r-sound. "Horse!"

Aemon gave her a confused look, but tried his best.

"Hosse!" he repeated eagerly."Hosse!"

Daenerys chuckled. He didn't seem to mind her amusement and was about to stumble back to his heap of toys when Daenerys leaned over and caught him with her unharmed hand.

Aemon made a surprised noise, but started to laugh when she patted his cheek.

"Have me," Aemon stated happily and grasped her hand.

"I have you," she confirmed and squeezed his small hand. Then she leaned down and put a kiss on his cheek, before taking in his hair. It had grown immensely and curled all the way down to his shoulders.

"We have to cut your hair," she remarked and twirled one of his pale curls around her finger. "You look like a little girl."

"Cut," Aemon repeated and pulled his head way. It seemed he recalled the last time all too vividly. "No cut…no."

Daenerys sighed deeply and patted his head.

"You are worse than Jon…," she trailed off.

"Are you badmouthing me?" Jon asked, his voice laced with amusement. Daenerys laughed and lifted her head to find Jon standing at the entrance of their chamber. Ghost was already on his feet and licked Jon's hand.

"Nothing could be further from the truth," she replied cheekily and allowed Aemon to return to his heap of toys. "But Aemon is in dire need of a haircut."

Jon angled his head and took in Aemon's appearance. He sat on the floor and arranged his horses and dragons. It was his favorite past-time, besides teasing Ghost.

"His hair looks fine to me," he remarked and brushed his hair out of his face. It reached easily past his shoulders and was in dire need of a cut. "And you know what happened last time. He doesn't like to cut his hair."

Daenerys rolled her eyes.

"Just like you."

"I am not afraid to cut my hair," he defended himself and bridged the distance. Her arm was still bandaged and Tito's mother urged her to rest as much as possible. Daenerys tried to convince him otherwise, but Jon was stubborn. Her arm hurt a little, but the cooling pastes made by Tito's mother helped.

"Aye, you are," she confirmed and grinned at him.

He returned her smile and leaned closer to place a kiss on her lips. Then he regarded her shoulder.

"The bandages need changing," he remarked and brushed his hand over the shoulder.

"We can do that later," she disagreed and grasped his hand. "I want to speak with the captive…this Daario. You have questioned him numerous times…I want to hear what he has to say."

"Of course," Jon agreed and squeezed her hand. "It is just…I thought you could need a few days of rest and you won't like what he has to say."

His concern touched her, but she was no weak maid.

"I understand," she replied. "But I want to speak with the captive."

"Very well," Jon answered and sighed heavily. "But first we change your bandages."

"Very well," she confirmed and touched his hair. "But only if you allow me to cut your hair. Aemon might agree to cut his hair if he sees you doing it."

"You really that will work?" Jon asked disbelievingly.

"I am sure," Daenerys replied and had no intention let him slip away.

…

The captive was smiling in amusement.

"You came just in time for supper," he remarked and jerked his head at the bowl of cut vegetables and meat. "But I doubt that is the reason you came here."

Jon shook his head. No smile showed on his lips as she regarded the captive.

"Indeed, Jon confirmed."Daenerys wants to hear what you told me."

"Daenerys," the captive repeated. "Wasn't that the name of a Targaryen Queen?"

"Princess," she corrected him. "The first Daenerys was wed to the Prince of Dorne and I am the second. But you are not wrong…I am a Targaryen. King Aerys was my father. Jon is also a Targaryen…his father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, my father's oldest son."

Daario's eyes widened and lifted his head to look at Jon.

"You don't look like a dragonlord," he remarked and bared his teeth. "But it explains your dragons. Can you ride them too?"

"I can," Jon replied coldly. "But that is not why we came here. Tell Daenerys what you told me about the Masters of Astapor."

"Very well," Daario quipped and angled his head to look at her. "It were the Masters of Astapor who offered the Stormcrows a hefty sum to kill your dragons. That is why we were riding with the Dothraki…our task was to kill the dragons."

"I see," Daenerys said and pondered this revelation. "But why do the Masters of Astapor care about our dragons?"

"The answer is quite simple, Princess," Daario explained. "Coin…the coin you cost them."

"Coin," she repeated. The realization hit her like thunder. "Of course…the young boys…the Unsullied. Did they also hire the Dothraki horde?"

"Exactly," the captive confirmed. "They used the Dothraki to do their dirty work. And they did it eagerly. The Stormcrows didn't partake in the butchery…the Dothraki didn't deem us worthy of such a task. Not that I wanted to partake. There is not much glory in killing wailing woman and children."

Daenerys remained skeptical.

"Why should I believe you?" she asked. "Maybe you are just lying to escape punishment…"

"I don't trust him, but he is not lying," Jon added unhappily. "We questioned the other men. Tito was quite harsh with him…they confirmed his story."

"I see," she said and turned to look at Jon." How many of the Stormcrows survived?"

"We took about a hundred of them captive…the rest is dead or fled after the battle," Jon answered, his dark gaze still fixed on the captive. "But the Lhazareen want them gone."

"Well, I am not fond of them either," Daario complained. "Their food is not to my taste and I can see that they want to cut my throat. Allow us to go and we shall trouble you no more…," he continued and grinned. "Or I could help you."

"Help us?" Daenerys asked in confusion. "How could you be of help to us?

Daario bared his golden teeth.

"Simple…I know your enemy and I can help you to defeat them."

"Defeat them?" Jon asked. "We defeated them…Surely they will think twice before attacking us again?"

"Are you that naïve, boy?" he Daario asked and howled with laughter. "Your victory means nothing. The Dothraki mean nothing to the Masters of Astapor nor does the loss of a sellsword company. They have enough gold to hire a dozen of sellsword companies. They won't forget about the dragons as long as you pose a threat for their business."

"Business," Jon repeated and gritted his teeth. "All of this bloodshed…for a bit of coin."

"Not a bit of coin," Daario corrected him. "A great amount of coin. It costs a fortune to buy an army of Unsullied. That is also what the city is known for…their business with the Unsullied."

"I already knew that," Jon quipped angrily. "And I still don't trust you."

"You know nothing," Daario countered. "But that is why you need me. Look, my boy. I want to keep my head and I only agreed to the task, because my partners goaded me into this mad mission. Now they are dead and I have a responsibility for my men. I hold no love for the Masters of Astapor…I told you before…I was once a slave fighting in the fighting pits. I would gladly aid you to kill those cunts."

"Kill them?" Jon asked and his head snapped back to Daario. "But isn't Astapor a city with mighty walls"

"So what?" Daario asked. "Your dragons burned hundreds of Dothraki. I doubt those walls are going to stop them."

"What you say is true," she agreed hesitatingly. "But this city is full of slaves…innocent slaves, she added and brushed down her shawl to reveal her tattoo.

If the captive was surprised it didn't show on his face.

"Of course," he replied and laughed as if this was all a joke to him. "Well, there are other ways to take a city. Deception is another possibility."

"Deception or not," Jon said. "But taking Astapor would provoke a war with the other cities. They would come at us like a horde of mad dogs."

Daario seemed unimpressed by Jon's concerns.

"Yunkai is a city full of pleasure slaves. They wouldn't even stand a chance against your wailing women and children. All they know are the seven sighs. And the Wise Masters know nothing of the way of the sword. Strike quickly and they won't even be able to hire sellswords to do their bidding. Meereen would be harder to take, but I doubt they would stand a chance against your dragons."

"And the Unsullied?" she asked. "The Lhazareen count relatives among the ranks of the Unsullied. I cannot expect them to fight their own blood.

Daario only laughed.

"I already proposed a solution for your problem, sweet Princess," Daario cooed sweetly. "Deception. Hear my plan and I am sure you will be delighted…," he continued, but Jon cut him off. He looked annoyed and angry.

Daenerys was perplexed. Jon was usually composed, but it seemed this Daario was getting under his skin.

"Keep your flowery words to yourself," Jon snapped and grasped Daenerys hand. "We will speak tomorrow. Rest."

Daenerys wanted to hear the captive's plan, but she sensed that Jon wanted to speak alone.

"What is wrong?" she asked him after he had closed the door behind them. "I don't trust him either, but we should hear him out."

"It is not that," Jon replied and turned face her. "Daario has enough cunning to come up with such a plan…I don't know if I want to go that far."

"I don't understand," Daenerys said. "You heard what he said. The Masters are not going to leave us alone. And it was you who said we should use the dragons to help people. We helped the Lhazareen, because they were kind to us. I want to help those who were like me. It wouldn't be just an act of revenge."

"Aye," he agreed and sighed heavily. "But Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen are not the only cities practicing slavery…"

"I understand," she agreed and touched his shoulder. She squeezed lightly and exhaled deeply, before continuing to speak. "But isn't it better fight an enemy one by one than all of them at once?"

"Of course it is," he replied, his voice still laced with doubt. "But…" he trailed off and averted his gaze.

"Jon," she said more firmly. "Nobody asks you to become Aegon the Conqueror, but we can't wait until the Masters of Astapor sent a dozen of sellsword companies our way. Maybe we already set these things in motion when defeated the first Dothraki horde."

"Aye," Jon said and swallowed hard. "Then let us hear what Daario has to say."

…

 **Margaery**

The guests were in good spirits, but Margaery couldn't bring herself to share their joy.

The last weeks had been more than frustrating for her. She tried her best to win the King's favor, but he still showed her little attention.

He preferred riding out to the Kingsguard or to judge criminals. He especially liked dispensing justice. Margaery once dared to attend such a ceremony, because her grandmother encouraged her to do it, but the memory alone was enough to make her shudder.

When she was told that she would wed Tywin Lannister's grandson, she expected a spoiled boy, but not a monster. She didn't dare to tell her father, but King Joffrey scared her.

Only her grandmother and Loras knew her true thoughts. Her grandmother had told her to play along and Loras swore to protect her, but these well-intended promises were of little use to her.

Neither her grandmother nor Loras will have to share the King's bed

Her cold relationship with the Queen Mother worried her even more. Margaery was a young, but she knew what "hatred" looked like. She invited the Queen Mother three times, but every time she refused her. Her Lady Mother advised her to seek out the Queen personally, but this attempt proved another disappointment. The brief talk consisted of nothing more than cold looks and snapping remarks.

 _She would strangle me to death if Lord Tywin allowed it_ , she knew and forced a smile over her lips as a Lady dropped her head in greeting.

Tonight she was seated next to the King, but he showed more interest in his cup of wine than her. The Queen Mother was not far and donned a dream of red silk. The red rubies braided into her golden locks shone even brighter than her cat-like smile.

At least she avoided speaking with Margaery, because she spent her time pampering her youngest son, Prince Tommen. Not long ago, the youngest boy celebrated his nameday and Margaery gifted him a cat. The Queen Mother was not very pleased, but the young boy was able to change her mind. Now said Ser Pounce lived a King's life, but her relationship with the Queen didn't change.

 _She despises me_ , she knew and angled her head to get a look at Tywin Lannister. He was seated next at a different table and in deep conversation with her Lord Father. Her grandmother told her much about the old Lion of the Rock, but seeing him with her own eyes dimmed the fear his name instilled. He was no doubt a dangerous man, but to her he looked like any other old man.

Yet he was the most powerful man in the room. It was not King Joffrey who ruled, but Tywin Lannister. The crown meant nothing without Tywin Lannister's armies.

And my father's armies, she reminded herself and brought the cup to her lips. It was the finest Arbor, sponsored by Lord Redwyne, but Margaery took little pleasure in it. She always preferred Dornish wine, though she would have never dared to tell her Lord Father. He still held this childish hatred for the Dornish due to her brother's unfortunate accident in a tilt. It was no wonder that her Lord Father asked Willas to stay in Highgarden. Oberyn Martell was expected to attend the wedding.

"You are so quiet," the King remarked gruffly and snapped her out of her thoughts. She felt a hint of shame that she allowed her mask to slip in such a manner, but keeping up appearances was quite strenuous.

"I apologize, your Grace," she replied and graced him with a bright smile. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," the King answered and jerked his head at the crowd of people seated at the trestle tables. "This feast is boring. I does not surprise me that you are already falling asleep, my Lady."

Margaery nodded her head in agreement. It was always best to agree with King Joffrey. It was the first thing she learned.

"Indeed," she confirmed and tried to appear bored. "But today is only the first night of the tourney. I am sure the jousting competitions will be exciting."

"Of course," the King replied. "I will show these fools how it is done."

"Indeed," she confirmed again. Her face was beginning to hurt from the constant smiling. "You deserve worthy opponents. My brother should serve."

The King frowned at that and started to circle his cup in an impatient manner.

"Your brother ought to be capable. He will serve as a member of my Kingsguard," the King said at last and shifted his attention back to the guests.

Then he fell silent again and started to tap his finger on the surface of the table, as if contemplating something.

Margaery felt a hint of dread and when she saw the wicked smile curling on Joff's lips she knew that her gut feeling proved right.

"Do you care for a bit of entertainment, my Lady," he asked, his wine-tinged breath tickling her cheek.

She shuddered, her smile still in place.

"It would be my pleasure," your Grace."

The King grinned and called for a blond-haired boy garbed in a crimson cloak. It was Lancel Lannister, the King's cousin.

"Lancel," the King said. "Get Robb Stark here. He has yet to greet his King."

The boy's jade eyes darted first to Lord Tywin and then to the Queen, but her husband-to-be proved as impatient as ever.

"At once!" he snapped and the boy slipped away. Margaery used the moment to refill her cup and tasted the calming liquid. "And hurry!"

"I am surprised he came at all," Margaery remarked. "Didn't you mention that his wife is heavy with child?"

"The Frey girl died in childbirth," the King whispered in her ear and rubbed his hands together. He looked like a little child who got a new toy for his name day. "It was only a girl and the fool called it Lyanna. Even my Lady Mother agreed that it is a foolish idea to give a child such a cursed name."

Your father was once betrothed to this woman, she wanted to reply. She didn't know Robb Stark, but rejoicing over a woman's death was disgusting. The King might not care, but Margery was a woman and knew what awaited her in the birthing bed: blood and death.

"I agree with your Lady Mother," she replied instead "A cursed name for a cursed child."

Her words filled her with shame and she silently sent a prayer to the gods.

 _May the gods grace the babe with a long life._

Joff cackled in delight and leaned over to touch hear hand.

Margaery shuddered again. His presence brought him no pleasure, though she tried her best.

"He is coming!" the King whispered in her ear. Margaery lifted her head and found him at the entrance of the tent. Not even the ghost of a smile showed on his even-shaped face as he stepped before the King.

His bow was also quite lacking.

"You asked for my presence, your Grace?" he asked and lifted his head. It was then that the light of the chandelier lightened up his face and gave Margaery a clear view of his features.

It surprised her how handsome he was. He had an even-shaped face, fair red hair and eyes of summer.

That he didn't hesitate to meet the King's gaze told her that he was also graced with a bold character.

 _Or maybe it is only his hatred speaking._

"Indeed," the King replied in a grumbling voice. "Please take a seat, my Lord. We are allies, are we not? We should get to know one another."

Robb's face was like an open book. Margaery read anger and disgust, but no ill word left the young man's lips.

He even smiled, though it didn't quite reach his face.

"Of course," Robb Stark answered and sat down. It was then that his gaze darted to Margaery. The King seemed to sense this and pulled on her arm as if to mark his territory.

He was more like a dog than a lion or stag.

"This is my beautiful bride," the King introduced her. "Lady Margaery Tyrell."

Robb Stark dipped his head and graced her with a fleeing smile. This smile was softer and seemed honest. It made him look only more handsome. His lips were made for gentle smiles.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my Lady," Robb Stark replied politely, his blue eyes meeting hers. His eyes were so blue, she feared to drown in them. "You are lucky, your Grace. They didn't lie when they said that Margaery Tyrell is the fairest of maids."

 _Get a hold of yourself_ , she chided herself and brushed these feelings away. _Grandmother would kick you if she was here._

"And you are lucky to be rid of your Frey wife," the King complimented. "I heard all Frey women look like weasels."

An expression of pure hatred flickered over Robb Stark's face. The King was blind to it, but Margaery got a glimpse of the wolf residing in Robb Stark's breast.

"Lady Roslin was quite beautiful for a Frey. She took after her Lady Mother…a Rosby," he explained in a low voice. "I was blessed to have her as my bride."

The King was not pleased and frowned.

"Well, I suppose you will have to find yourself another bride, my Lord," the King added haughtily and spread his arms. "Half the realm came here to attend this tourney. I am sure you will find a Lady that suits your taste."

"My cousins are still unmarried," she offered, lacking a better answer. She felt the urge to console him for his loss, to give him a kind word, but that would displease the King.

"What you say is true, your Grace…I will have to choose another bride," Robb Stark agreed politely, but his blue eyes still burned with hatred. Only when angled his head to look at her his anger dispersed. "And I would be pleased to meet your cousins, but not today. I am tired from the long travel and my bed is waiting. I fear I have to bid you good night, your Grace."

He gave another bow and left. It was rather impolite, but it seemed Robb Stark was a daring man.

"Look how the coward flees!" the King exclaimed happily and clapped his hands together. Margaery wondered if it was his pride that blinded him so. Robb Stark didn't flee. He left because he was close to strangling his King.

…

 **Benjen**

Benjen knew it was time for supper when the flap of the tent opened.

It was the Wildling girl named Val. She had been taking care of him throughout his imprisonment but Benjen tried to ignore her nagging questions.

The Night's Watch teaches their recruits to hate Wildlings, but it was hard to hate them when they were as pretty as this one. Tall and lithe, the young woman towered over most women. Her face sharp, but her long blond hair softened it and gave her an almost noble appearance.

 _She is Mance's good-sister_ , he knew, but not much more than that. She hardly spoke about herself, though she had spent a considerable amount of time in his presence.

He had tried his best to ignore her, but even Benjen was longing for human contact after moons of imprisonment. And whenever they moved they blindfolded him.

"I bring roasted elk meat," the young woman remarked and closed the flap of the tent. Today she donned a new pelt; white and soft as it was it must belong to a hare or a bear. It suited her better than he wanted to admit and stirred something inside him he thought long buried by time and duty.

He had served the Night's Watch for half his life, but even Benjen was not freed from the temptations of the flesh. He might not frequent the brothels of Mole's Town as often as the other men, but he was still a man. And such a beautiful specimen like this one in front of him was seldom seen at the Wall.

"Did you hear what I said?" the young woman asked in an annoyed manner and brushed her blond hair over her shoulder. "Did you get deaf overnight, crow?"

Benjen tried to ignore her, but it seemed the silence stirred her on to litter him with questions.

"You look hungry, crow," she remarked cheekily and bared her teeth. "But you won't get the food until you answer my questions."

Benjen wanted to refuse, but his stomach was empty. He hadn't eaten all day and was ravenous.

 _I need to survive_ , he knew and closed his eyes when the dark memories with these strange creatures came back to him. Whatever attacked him, he had never seen anything like it. Just thinking about it made his blood freeze. One of the creatures had skin as pale as snow and yes as blue as frost. Its blade of milkglass broke his iron-forged blade as if it was made of glass.

He didn't even know how he survived the ordeal. All he recalled were those pale blue eyes meeting his through the darkness.

"Did you hear what I said?" Val's voice called him back to the present.

"I heard you," he muttered and eyed the roasted meat. "As you can see…I am neither deaf nor stupid."

She grinned, obviously very pleased that she managed to make him speak.

Benjen was not pleased. He was sure that Mance sent her here to speak with him.

"Here," she said and handed him the bowl filled with pieces of steaming meat and cut vegetables. "My sister's meals are best when they are still warm."

"Most meals are," he quipped and picked the piece of meat from the bowl. His hands were bound together, but not in a way that made it impossible to ea. It wouldn't be hard to get rid of the rope, but that would be no use. The Wildlings would hunt him down like an animal. They knew these lands better than him, though he was one of the most experienced rangers.

"You think you are clever, don't you, crow?" she asked him and rolled her eyes.

He ignored her and continued to eat.

He hoped she would leave, but she continued to watch him.

"Why are you crows always so damn serious?" she asked and searched his gaze. Her eyes were grey, flecked with blue.

Benjen sighed.

"I am not more serious than other men of the Night's Watch," Benjen replied and chewed slowly. He savored the taste of fresh meat on his tongue. It gave him the strength he needed. "And I am one of those who joined willingly."

"You did what?" she asked, her brows wrinkled in confusion.

"Why would anyone in their right mind want to join this miserable lot?"

Benjen put another piece of meat in his mouth and chewed slowly.

 _Because it is an honor to serve in the Night's Watch_ , he wanted to answer. It was what they told him before he spoke his vows, but now after all these years he knew that it was nothing more than a comforting lie the Lord Commander told himself to feel better. The Night's Watch had grown brittle, like an old rusty sword. It was the reason he advised Jon against joining the Night's Watch. Benjen was Jon's age when he joined and even now he sometimes regretted his decision. It made him wonder what kind of person he would have become had he wed the girl Ned intended for him.

 _I run away from my pain_ , he knew and brushed these feelings of sadness away. _To forget my guilt._

"Aye," he confirmed. "I joined willingly. That must sound odd to you, but I was a young boy who didn't know better."

"What changed?" she asked in a serious tone.

"Nothing," he replied and didn't shy away to meet her gaze. "I am still a crow and I will be a crow until the end of my days. I know that Mance sent you here to lure me to his side, but I can assure you…It won't work."

"You crows are not only miserable, but also stubborn," she remarked, a hint of anger washing over her lovely face. "You saw the Others with your own eyes and yet you consider _us_ the enemy."

Benjen was stunned.

"How…," he began, but Val didn't hesitate to cut him off.

"We found your broken sword. Only the blades of the Others can shatter steel," she explained and picked up the empty bowl. Then handed him the bundle of pelt she had placed near the entrance of the tent.

"I have seen them," he said and picked he bundle of pelt from her hands. Only when he started to pick the garments apart did he realize that it were fresh clothing. "But that won't change the mind of my brothers. For them you are the enemy that needs to be kept behind the Wall. It is part of our vow to protect the realms of men."

"To protect the realms of men," she repeated angrily. "Are we not men? My sister Dalla is heavy with child and the Others will kill her if we don't get pass the Wall. This stupid vow of yours damns thousands of innocent women and children to death."

Her swords hit him hard. It was only now that he realized the truth. The Others can raise the dead.

 _The Others will add the dead Wildlings to their army of dead._

He shuddered and met her gaze.

"How big is their army? Do you know?"

She frowned at that and pondered his question. All the while she played with her plaited hair. She looked almost like an anxious child.

"Thousands," she answered at last and gave him a piercing look. "Mance tried his best to unite the clans, but some of them refused to join our cause. And who knows what lurks in the Lands of Always Winter…nobody knows."

"I understand," Benjen said and nodded his head. "But you will only find death if you attack the Wall. Let me go and I will speak for the Free Folk…on my honor as a Stark."

"Vows are words and words are wind, crow," she said and jerked her head at the bundle of clothing. "Mance told me this and I agree with him. But enough of this empty talk…Get dressed, crow. Mance wants to speak with you personally."

"Why can't I wear my old clothes?"

An amused smile crossed her lips as she knelt down and cut his ropes.

"Mance doesn't like the color black and the rest of my people share his dislike," she added and rose back to her feet, her dagger still in hand.

He frowned and eyed the bundle.

"Very well," he agreed at last and sighed deeply. "I will do as you ask."

She laughed and remained standing there, her amused smile still in place. Benjen knew then that she had no intention to leave.

"Are you going to watch?" he demanded to know.

"You could try running off," she explained plainly. "Besides, there is nothing I haven't seen before. Now get dressed…Mance is waiting for us."

…

 **Catelyn**

It was the second time she undertook the ascent to the Eyrie, but it was not less frightening. The first time she came here after she took Tyrion Lannister captive, but in the end it turned out to be a folly. Lord Tyrion was deemed innocent.

 _I should have gone to Winterfell_ , she knew and brushed away those bothersome memories. _I won't fail again._

She believed Petyr her friend. Yet Ned's letter revealed the hard truth. The boy she knew that grew up with her was a traitor of the vilest sort.

 _I told Ned to trust him_ , she recalled bitterly. Her heart clenched with guilt whenever she even thought about it.

Worse was that he wed Lysa. Even now she recalled Lysa's tears when she found Petyr broken and bloodied by Brandon's blade. Catelyn begged Brandon to spare his life, but now she regretted her actions.

 _I should have let him die_ , she thought, fresh anger whirling up inside her. _I will kill him myself if I get my hands on him._

Yet she recalled Robb's command.

"We are nearly there, my Lady," Mya Stone, Robert Baratheon's bastard daughter, declared. She grinned as she jerked her head at the seven white towers touching the dreary sky.

"Indeed," Catelyn replied politely. Looking at the girl, she couldn't help but to think of Snow. His long solemn face had haunted throughout all those years. Fourteen years of fear that this boy might try to usurp Robb's inheritance.

Now she knew the truth. It was a lie, made up by Ned to fool King Robert. All this lying for a foolish girl, who refused to do her duty.

It wasn't like she didn't understand Ned's reasoning, but the betrayal hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She would have feared the boy's presence, but she would have tried her best to live with him. Ned never gave her any chance when it came to Snow. Instead he used her to cover up his lies.

That was what hurt the most.

"My Lady," Mya Stone's soft-spoken voice snapped her out of her deep thoughts. "It is time to leave the mules behind."

"Aye," Catelyn agreed and climbed from her horse. Catelyn sighed in relief when her feet touched the firm ground. "Thank you."

"Welcome, Lady Stark," Lord Nestor Royce greeted her at the entrance to the Crescent Chamber. It was a small and homey hall meant to receive honored guests."I hope your ascent wasn't too perilous, my Lady?"

"The winds were rather chilly," she replied and picked up a piece of bread from the silver plate, carried by a servant girl. It was warm and soft on her tongue and another servant quickly offered her a cup of wine to wash it down. "But I am used to worse. The winds in the North are always chilly."

"Indeed," Lord Nestor Royce confirmed and led her in an anteroom. Her guards remained behind and Cat pulled off her cloak."Now come along, my Lady. Lord Baelish awaits you."

"And my sister?" she inquired politely.

An unreadable expression washed over Lord Nestor Royce's sharp face.

"Lady Lysa is sick," he explained and led her through a narrow corridor, before opening a brightly-colored door, leading into a spacious room. A large table occupied the middle of the chamber and a warm fire cracked in the hearth.

"Cat!" a familiar voice greeted her across the room. She recognized Petyr immediately, but just hearing his voice made her skin crawl. It took all her effort to calm herself.

Somehow she managed a smile and dropped a curtsy.

"Your visit is a pleasant surprise!" Petyr added, his grey-green eyes alight with happiness.

"It is," she replied sweetly. "A wonderful surprise, but I hoped to see my sister. I heard she is indisposed?"

"Regrettably so," Petyr replied and leaned down to kiss her hand. He lingered longer than appropriate, but it seemed he didn't notice her discomfort. He beamed like a star as he straightened himself and pointed at the nearby table. "She will join us tomorrow. It seems we are alone tonight."

She shuddered and watched as two servant girls started to deck the table with the finest silver. Moments later a page boy brought two golden cups and a flagon of wine.

The food was even better; roasted meat of all kinds and wild vegetables, fresh from the mountains.

"Isn't that a bit much?" she asked and tried to appear delighted.

"On the contrary," Petyr replied and took a seat on the opposing side. Then he leaned over the table and filled her cup. "I hope you like Dornish wine."

"I do," she confirmed and brought the cup to her lips. She drank and pondered her next step.

 _Flatter him_ , Robb had told her, an idea blooming in her mind. _Earn his trust._

Thus she took another hearty gulp and placed the half-empty cup on the table.

"Wonderful," she declared and flashed Petyr a bright smile. "We hardly get Dornish wine in Winterfell…only at feast days. Ned never liked to waste coin on such fancies."

If the change of topic bothered him it didn't show on his face.

"I liked your husband," he replied in heartfelt voice. Not even a mummer could have done it better. "I regret what happened to him, but he should have never ventured into the lion's den."

"Indeed," she agreed and buried in the folds of her skirt. She felt the urge to strangle him. "And my son is not much better. He is so very young and he thinks he knows everything. In truth he didn't want me to come here. My visit concerns a matter that is very important to me…Are you willing to listen, Petyr?"

An almost soft expression washed over his face and he squeezed her hand.

"Of course I am willing to listen. I told you before…I am your loyal friend, Cat. Please speak freely."

"I thank you," she replied and squeezed his hand, trying to make the gesture as heartfelt as possible. "The matter concerns my brother Edmure. He is still unmarried and I want a proper match for him. I am speaking about Lady Ysilla Royce…Lord Royce's daughter. I know it is too much to ask for this favor, but my brother spends too much time with his whores. Edmure needs a proper wife."

If he was displeased by her suggestion it didn't show on his face.

He continued to smile and pulled his hand away.

"It would be a good match," Petyr agreed and leaned back, his green-grey eyes sweeping over the table. "I will think about it. I promise."

Cat smiled and tried to hide her disappointment.

"Of course," she answered and tried to appear relieved. "I can't expect more. Truly, I am thankful."

"Oh, on the contrary," Petyr answered and re-filled her cup. "It is my pleasure to have you hear. We have much to talk about, don't we, Cat?"

"We have," she confirmed and feigned another smile. "We have."

…

 **Arya**

The air bit her skin, but Arya was determined to follow her path. She loved Robb and her Lady Mother, but sitting idle was never one of her greatest strengths.

Bran was the same, though he is plans were different.

 _I need to become the Three-Eyed-Crow_ , he had told her not long ago. _I beg you. Help me, sister._

How could she not believe him after seeing these horrible visions with her own eyes?

 _It is for the best_ , she told herself and angled her head to look at her brother, seated before Meera Reed. Usually, Bran would have insisted to use his special saddle, but this was no normal ride.

Today was the day of their departure, though they first had to take care of their protectors.

These protectors were Hallis Mollen and two guardsmen, following after them like shadows. It pained her to fool them.

 _It is the only way_ , she knew and exchanged a quite look with her brother. All wrapped in his thick pelt, he looked like a babe. His thin pale face was hardly visible and now and then she saw the glimpse of a red curl.

Bran nodded his head as if to give her the sign. Meera Reed swallowed hard as their eyes met and her odd brother remained passive as ever.

Arya exhaled deeply and pulled down her pelted hood, before shifting her attention to Hallis Mollen.

"I think we should take a break," she remarked and jerked her head at the row of trees not far from their position. There were several ironwood trees, all bent and broken, but their thick canopy enough to provide shelter against the light snowfall. "My brother looks rather pale…a few minutes should be enough."

"Aye, my Lady," Hallis Mollen replied and pulled the reins of his horse. The mighty charger huffed and stopped instantly. "A break should do."

"I am not tired," Bran complained, playing the disgruntled child. "I want to advance deeper into the Wolfswood."

"But my Lord…," Hallis Mollen protested hesitatingly, but Bran shook his head, his face a grimace of displeasure. Arya was impressed by his mummery.

"I want to move on," Bran insisted.

"You look like an ice pickle, brother," she quipped back. She tried to sound like their Lady Mother. "We will take a break. I am responsible for you."

Bran pouted and covered his face with his pelted hood. Arya suppressed the urge to laugh.

 _Well, done little brother. You should have become a mummer._

Hallis Mollen sighed in relief and climbed from his horse. The two guardsmen followed suit and sat down on a fallen tree. They were wrapped in thick cloaks, though the sun stood high above the treetops.

 _They will survive it,_ she was sure and sat down next to Meera Reed.

Meera Reed didn't hesitate to slip into her assigned role and opened her wineskin. Then she turned around and graced the men with warm smile.

"I have mulled wine," she offered invitingly. "Do you want some?"

Hallis Mollen grinned eagerly and took a hearty gulp from the wineskin, before handing it to his other two companions. They drank just as eagerly, completely unaware what they were consuming.

It didn't take long, before the drought started to work its magic. Hallis Mollen and the two guardsmen started to sway like two young trees bared to a storm, their eyes drooping. The blink of a moment passed and Hallis Mollen dropped from his seat.

Arya and Meera were barely able to catch him. The guardsmen didn't last longer. One collapsed against the tree and the other one fell face-forward into the snow.

"Damn, this stuff his strong!" Arya cursed quietly and pulled one of the guardsmen to the side. "What was that?"

"A secret of the crannogmen, my lady," Meera Reed replied and gave her knowing smile.

"We need to hurry," Jojen added and helped Arya and Meera to wrap the men in their warm pelts. It was necessary to knock them out, but she can't have her father's man freezing to death. "The drought won't work forever."

"Aye," Arya replied and pulled her dagger out of her boots, before bringing the sharp blade to her braided hair. She cut the braids off until her hair was no longer than her smallest finger.

"And what are we going to do with the hair?" she asked her companions.

"Don't fret about it, my Lady," Meera assured her and gathered the hair. "I will burn it. We will leave no trace."

Arya sighed in relief and pulled the hood of her cloak over her face. Then she shifted her attention back to Bran.

His face was pale as fresh-fallen snow.

 _It is time to say goodbye_ , she knew, but it was easier said than done.

"Bran," she said and enclosed him in a tight embrace. "Are you sure about this?"

"I know it is the right thing to do," he told her and regarded her with wide blue eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Aye," she confirmed sadly and embraced him again. "I need to find Jon. I can't sit here and wait until I am going to wed Elmar the Nosepicker."

Bran buried his head in her neck and trembled. For this brief moment he was only her little brother.

"You will find him," he whispered in her ear. "I saw it."

"Truly?" Arya asked in disbelief.

"I would never lie to you, sister," he assured her and freed himself from her embrace.

"I know that," she said and rose to her feet. She exhaled deeply and shifted her attention to Nymeria, sprawled in the snow next to Summer. "I know that."

Arya gritted her teeth and embraced her wolf one last time. It would be impossible for her to board without arousing suspicions.

Besides, Bran was in need of protection.

"Take good care of Bran," she told her wolf and rose back to her feet. Then she made her way to back to her horse.

A quick goodbye would be best, but she was unable to do it. Against better knowledge she turned around and took one last glance at her little brother and his travelling companions.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she couldn't help but to wave. Bran returned the gesture and Arya stifled a sob.

Then she turned around and led her horse away.

…


End file.
